As You Like (It) Murdoch
by RuthieBelle
Summary: Once again, a Murdoch Mysteries version of Shakespeare's classic, As You Like It. Practically everyone is running around as someone other than themselves yet it all seems to work out in the end.
1. Chapter 1

_**CHAPTER ONE **_

"_**All the world's a stage…" **_

"...Male, blonde hair and beard, perhaps mid-thirties, approximately seventy-three inches tall, dressed in a city business suit. Found by a bird-dog around dawn this morning; I have the hunter's statement. This is apparently a favourite spot for pheasant, grouse and turkey as well as target shooting, or rather _illegal_ shooting of all kinds. And if you look up there…" Constable George Crabtree gestured with his pencil, "it is not hard to tell where the body was dropped from the road above considering the broken branches, etcetera. I have the lads looking for a weapon or other physical evidence there as well as down here. There is no identification on his person, no papers, no time piece, no personal items, his collar studs and cuff-links are missing, and he has only one shoe…" George's report to his detective and the coroner was succinct, even with noting the victim's sartorial oddity. George also observed the couple was in exceptionally high spirits this morning despite the noisome, buzzing tragedy which lay between them.

"Very good, George. Find that shoe, would you? It might tell us something about where the attack occurred."

Dismissing George, knowing the job was in good hands, Detective William Murdoch addressed his lovely companion. She was wearing one of his favourite outfits, a crisp business-like skirt and short jacket over a white blouse, which fit her curves very well, yet allowed her to move freely. In fact, he'd helped her get into it this morning, the recollection distracting him momentarily. He suppressed a smile then came back to his duty.

"What have you doctor?" After blessing himself (followed by a whisk of his hand to ward off flies), William stood just opposite his wife while waiting patiently for her to proceed with their familiar routine. The day was blue-sky beautiful, pleasantly warm with low humidity, a welcome break from six days of the unbearably scorching and sticky heat, typical during a Toronto summer. His demeanor was professional as always, yet a moment sparked between them when she caught his attention with her blue eyes. The telephone's early morning jangle announcing a murder interrupted a decidedly romantic interlude between them, and he had every intention of getting back to it at their earliest opportunity.

"Detective." Dr. Julia Ogden's lips smiled the title, acknowledging him while dipping her eyes away from his entrancing brown ones to the corpse at their feet. She knelt for a better vantage point. "As you can see, the victim was shot twice. Once at close range. There are visible powder burns on this entrance wound…" She pointed to a dusting of fine black spots on the left side of what remained of the corpse's carmine-coloured waistcoat. "And none on his second wound, there," indicating a gaping tear in the right side of the victim's neck. "And not much blood here, either."

William allowed himself a small wince, pointing to what was left of the man's throat. "I assume that was rather immediately fatal." He tried to ignore the smell and the insects, not to be outdone by his wife who was seemingly immune to such things. "Indeed." Julia's blonde head nodded agreeably, her jauntily-applied straw boater along for the ride. "The carotid artery is torn. He'd have passed out rapidly, then bled to death in about four or five minutes assuming his heart kept pumping," she finished.

"So we can look for a trail of arterial spray?" William said, more to himself.

She nodded again anyway, agreeing. "He did not bleed out right here. A quick death."

William looked again at the dead man, frowning. "Quicker then being gut-shot and left out here to die. Estimated time of death, doctor?"

"_Rigor mortis_ is complete and _livor mortis_ indicates he has been here for at least twelve hours, so between 8 p.m. Tuesday and as long as a day and a half ago. The heat has played havoc with decomposition, as you might well imagine. I shall look to insect activity to specify a clearer time, but without a witness or other confirmation, I think I will only be able to give you an approximation."

"And the neck wound?" he asked.

She cocked her head. "From the entrance and exit angles, I would speculate the shot came from above and behind."

"And the other, uh, damage?" The corpse was in a sad state of _dishabille_, clothing torn and covered in leaves and burrs, flesh scraped, and one orbit deeply gouged.

"My guess is all that can be explained as from coming down the ravine, but I will need to look more closely to determine if any of that is from a pre-mortem or perimortem altercation."

William visualized several scenarios, stooping and stretching to approximate what may have happened, his watch chain flashing as it caught a bit of light. "So, he and his assailant begin face to face. The stomach wound first. With the victim over six feet tall, to shoot from above would require an especially tall assailant, or perhaps an elevated vantage point." William imagined the victim trying to get away down the hillside from a shooter on the road. "Unless..." William bent at the waist again to demonstrate. "Perhaps as the victim clutches his stomach or stumbles, the second shot is to finish him off…?"

"If there is one weapon and one assailant, that fits with the evidence so far." She accepted William's hand to rise to her feet, straightening her grey-green cotton-lawn skirt. The light fabric billowed in a puff of air, scattering the insects momentarily.

The flies circled back. William tried to see if there was a trail of them down the hillside to conveniently mark the corpse's bloody progress - nothing he could see at the moment.

"Do you have a guess about the calibre of either bullet or if they are the same?" he asked hopefully, scanning the hillside with its pock-marked trees, limbs blasted by shotguns. There was going to be enough birdshot and bullets for George and Henry to sort through as it was, so having some idea of what they were looking for was going to be critical.

"I am not ready to speculate at this time, other than it is perhaps too small for a .45 calibre, wouldn't you say?" She saw him nod. "As there is no exit wound for the abdominal bullet, I will be able to get that for you first thing." She reached for her medical bag. "May I have my body now, detective?"

William heard the touch of humour in her voice and her grin, then checked to see if they could be overheard. He gave a sly grin back. "Why, Julia, is that not a line from Eliza Ladywood's exploits?" Miss Ladywood, per her memoir, seems to have seduced a member of _La Sûreté _among other infamous exploits. Julia was having fun reading the stories, alluding to her even knowing the author, and hinting that he did too. William could not imagine who that was, but his wife had teased him over the last few nights by reading passages from her copy of _Adventures of a Young Woman Abroad,_ since it had been much too hot for actual connubial bliss. She made him guess the author after each story; so far he'd struck out.

Julia laughed softly. "Not precisely. I believe the line was, 'Do you want _my_ body now, Detective'…"

William felt a thrill jolt him. "Why, yes...yes I do," he rasped, only mildly guilty about inappropriate flirting at a death scene.

_Oh, that wicked man!, _she thought. She could feel herself colour. _It is a good thing only he can see my face. _ "Well, _monsieur_, we will have to finish the work at hand in order to do anything about that." She dropped her face then looked up at him with what she hoped was a coquettish flutter of eye-lashes. "Fortunately, the cause of death is not in question and it will not take long to find your bullet." Julia was every bit as eager as her husband for physical enjoyment and let him know it with a touch of her hand to his tie. "I will get your evidence and finish the autopsy with Miss Hart. I might even have that bullet by lunchtime, I can give you a private briefing on the results."

William felt that shiver of arousal again, the one that was never far away, where Julia was concerned. He accepted the need to spend some of his energy every day keeping himself superficially placid as a gentleman should be, a willing sacrifice to have her in his orbit. "Perhaps we can eat in my office? Or ride back home for a quick...er, bite?"

"Then the day is a-wasting as they say…"

Julia's low whisper sealed her spell over him. "Er...yes doctor, of course." He cleared his throat, sliding his eyes side to side: it did not seem any of the constables overheard their banter. Louder, he announced: "I will have the lads look for the spent bullet and possible casings when I know better what we are looking for." William stepped aside for the morgue attendants, then sighed to himself again at the sheer amount of ground that would need sifting for clues from the top of the ravine to the bottom of the hillside, especially if this was a popular hunting spot. He wondered if the location was chosen by the killer for that reason, or if it was merely coincidence? It could help him decide something about the killer if it was deliberately chosen. The sigh morphed into a frown as he saw a harried Constable Henry Higgins-Newsome crashing down through the sloped underbrush and slipping badly the last few feet, nearly launching himself into the dead body.

William reached out an arm to prevent that particular disaster. "Henry! Watch out! You are disturbing evidence."

Gasping for breath, Henry righted himself using the detective's dark brown lapel. "Sorry, sir. I was told to fetch you right away. You are ordered to go back to the station house immediately!"

* * *

"_**O, how full of briars is this working-day world…"**_

William stalked into station house No.4 vacillating between annoyance and alarm at the peremptory summons. It was not that he did not trust George with evidence recovery; he did. Completely. However, William himself did not get to thoroughly examine the scene, nor make the measurements he hoped to, which imparied his ability to create a three dimensional map of the area in his head. He hated being interrupted like that in the course of an investigation, so whoever and whatever it was that called him in better be important. He had barely removed his homburg when a faint whiff of cigar clued him in to what was ahead. His mood settled firmly on annoyed.

This threatened his promised rendezvous with Julia.

The blinds were pulled down in Inspector Brackenreid's office, which gave William a moment to prepare himself. He brushed off his suit again, smoothing out the wrinkle Henry's fist had caused, purposefully put a scowl on his face then rapped the Inspector's glass door pane.

"Get in here, Murdoch!" Brackenreid called sourly. William opened the door to see his superior behind his desk, sleeve garters in place and an empty glass of scotch by his hands. Although Brackenreid's ginger hair had faded a touch and there were a few lines around the man's eyes, he was still powerful and imposing. When he looked defeated it was not a good sign. "Close the door behind you. You have a visitor." Brackenreid motioned with his head.

William nodded to his boss but merely glared at the tall interloper occupying the room's black leather settee like a spider in a double breasted frock coat, a rather large Gladstone bag resting by one of his feet. "No." William announced stubbornly, and said nothing more, hoping his silence would speak volumes,. He stared Meyers down, waiting for whatever demand was coming. _This was not going to be good, _William predicted, feeling his hackles rise. _Then again it never was with that man, _he reminded himself, aware Brackenreid was already unhappy.

The unctuous voice scraped William's nerves. "What? No greeting, detective? You are not going to announce me in that special way you have?" Terrence Meyers waved the hand holding his cigar, his mouth flashing even white teeth. "I must say I am disappointed. I have come to enjoy our little ritual."

"The feeling is not mutual." William continued to challenge Meyers, aware the spy's humour did not reach his flat black pupils. "No. I don't care what you want, the answer is no."

Tension stretched between them while the Inspector moved his eyes back and forth as if he was watching an invisible tennis match. Terrence Meyers flinched first, getting a chuckle out of the Inspector. William did not let on he was pleased.

Exhaling, Meyers flicked his cigar ashes and shrugged. "Oh, all right. Let me get to the point. One of my operatives has been killed."

"Murdered?" Brackenreid questioned. "By whom, do you believe? And what has that got to do with us in general, and Murdoch in particular, that you had to pull my detective off his own murder case?"

"My man was preparing to take a critically important meeting later today. Nothing especially dangerous, just a simple hand off, but with his death an operation we have spent months developing is going to fail." Meyers paused as if that explained everything, without answering.

William commented on the obvious. "The death of your Agent belies the idea this mission of yours is not dangerous."

Meyers grimaced. "I said he was killed, not murdered. He, uh...well ...he was coming out of a tavern and, well...appears to have tripped on his shoelaces and broken his neck in a stupid accident." The spy moved on swiftly to cover the flush of embarrassment. "I need someone to take over the meeting tonight. You, in fact, Murdoch."

"_Me…?"_ William nearly yelped. He thought this was going to be bad, but not that bad.

"Why him, Meyers, and not one of your own men?" Brackenreid argued, sticking out a thumb towards William.

"I have no one else who fits the bill at such short notice. I promise you will be done by dinnertime, detective. Just come with me now, no questions asked." Meyers added an extra hail-fellow-well-met grin to sell his proposal while chewing his cigar into a new position in his mouth.

William and Brackenreid looked at each other. The spy's shark-like smile did not persuade either one of them. "No." William folded his arms over his chest for emphasis. Brackenreid did as well in unconscious sympathy.

Meyers looked incredulously at both his companions as if he could not fathom such rejection. "Gentlemen!...Must I say it? It is a matter of national security…"

Brackenreid guffawed. "I think you are going to need to tell us a little bit more, _Terrence_. What exactly is it you want Murdoch to do and why?"

William, for his part, was content to allow the inspector to do the quizzing, keeping his scowl firmly in place. At another time it might have been diverting to see the ordinarily high-handed Meyers twist a little in the wind, but not today. Not when whatever was going on was going to interfere with his current murder investigation, let alone enjoyment of his wife later tonight. He glowered harder as Brackenreid needled each of Meyers' dodges and prevarications..

Cornered and running out of time, Terence Meyers surrendered the pretenses. "What I am about to tell you…"

"Yes, yes…'National Security,' can't leave this room. Blah, blah, blah. Bloody hell! We know the drill, Meyers. Get on with it!" Brackenreid snapped, his Yorkshire vowels broadening the angrier he got..

The spy harrumphed, adjusting his cravat. "My Agent, Robert McKenzie Hale, was tasked with acquiring information on the new American hydrofoil from Mr. William Meacham who is at this very minute visiting Toronto for only three days. Mr. Meacham is speaking at the University of Toronto at the invitation of a Mr. Casey Baldwin, graduate student in mechanical engineering, and Meacham is known to always carry his research with him. The plan is for us to acquire it tonight from his goddaughter."

William objected immediately. "Why go to all that bother, Mr. Meyers? Information regarding hydrofoils is already in the public domain; the March Scientific American published Mr. Meacham's work for all to see. Why does the Crown need to steal anything?"

"What is a bloody hydrofoil anyways? Why is that important?" Brackenreid wanted to know.

William answered when Meyers hesitated. "It uses Bernoulli equations... if I can just use my blackboard…" He gave up when the Inspector rolled his eyes. "In simple terms, hydrofoil technology reduces drag on a boat or ship. The vessel uses less energy, therefore less fuel. But they would be too small, too vulnerable and too expensive to outfit a navy."

"So then what's the point?" Brackenreid directed this to Meyers.

"Gentlemen, this technology is a perfect first strike weapon against an island country like Great Britain. A mind no less than Alexander Graham Bell considers them to be a significant achievement. These crafts might make landing an army on her rocky shore, or even anywhere on Canada's rugged coastline, quite easy because of their very shallow draft. Meacham has advanced his thinking and is working on building a new, improved prototype, a larger vessel at a cheaper price. His Majesty's government must obtain those plans!" Meyers tried another flourish with his cigar, but it had gone cold. He took a moment to relight it, allowing William and Brackenreid to wordlessly confer. William's frown deepened as the Inspector's eyebrows shot higher.

"And this young woman was just going to la-dee-dah hand these secret plans over to your Mr. Hale? Just like that?" Brackenreid did not hide the derision. "So go get it yourself if it is that simple, Meyers, and leave Murdoch out of it." Brackenreid refilled his scotch, not offering the spy any.

William saw Meyers turn the problem over in his head. _This is getting tiresome._ _Meyers is especially reluctant to share the truth, such as it is in his world, so maybe he will back off if we stick to our guns._ "If you are not going to disclose your real situation, Mr. Meyers ...I have an investigation to get to." William rose to leave, hoping Meyers would just let it be. "Good day, Inspector…"

Meyers rose to stop him. "Oh, for Pete's sake...Sit down, Murdoch...er, umm...please?"

William was shocked. _Please? Well, that is not something you hear out of the pompous Meyers too often._ William repossessed his seat warily.

"It's like this…" Meyers threw out the whole convoluted reason for his dilemma, and why he felt the need to come, black top-hat-in-hand, to beg the constabulary's help...

It was clearly humiliating for the spy.

William was appalled.

Brackenreid laughed out loud. "Unbelievable! Terence, you have outdone yourself. Let me get this straight: your Agent, Mr. Hale, has been pretending to be French _bon vivant _Édouard Laurent, who has seduced young Miss Mabel Finch, goddaughter to William Meacham, with a promise of escaping her wicked step-father by eloping to Niagara Falls and then moving to France as _Madame _Laurent, with their new life financed by holding plans for this newfangled hydrofoil for ransom? And he did all of this by an exchange of letters, of all things?" He snickered. "Codswallop! Who is your Mr. Hale to have such powers of persuasion? Browning, Tennyson and Hardy all wrapped up into one paragon?" He guffawed again. "You really think that a promise of marriage is enough for a young woman to betray her family? How much of a happy-dafty is she?"

"The 'Romeo' gambit is basic spy craft, gentlemen, refined over centuries." Meyers countered evenly. "It works especially well on the naive, the lonely and the over-confident by spinning a tale for them that they want to believe. Miss Finch may have fallen naively in love, or merely see it as a means to an end, giving her a new life and embarrassing her hated stepfather all in one shot. Hale was our top Romeo operative and had been successful for us in several occasions in the past…"

"But, but... _Murdoch?_ You want William Murdoch to play a _lover_?" The Inspector snorted, unbelieving at the idea of William Murdoch as romantic lead in a play of any kind. "What kind of cockamamie idea is that? How about our man Watts? He's younger after all…"

William nearly added his own endorsement, before deciding Brackenreid's objection nipped his ego a little. He narrowed his eyes in his boss' direction. "Sir…"

Meyers pressed on, undaunted. "The plan was to have Miss Finch sneak the plans out tonight, board a train to Niagara Falls with her fiancé 'Édouard' and then he would photograph the plans and disappear from the train on her. The Romeo operation counts on the mark, in this case Miss Finch, being too embarrassed to say anything, therefore will go back to her family, none the worse for wear. The plans would appear to be still secured, only a case of her being jilted at the altar, if she even admits to that. If anything gets out, the French will be blamed. It must be tonight while Meacham and his entourage are at a soirée at Toronto University. Think of it as just a little one act play, over and done quickly..."

"Romeo, eh? This sounds more like Gilbert and Sullivan than Shakespeare," Brackenreid shook his head in disbelief.

_Sounds more like one of the Inspector's melodramatic operas_, William thought privately, but held his tongue as the Inspector and spy locked horns.

"Inspector, all of this has been tightly arranged. We are out of time. We have no one else we can trust." Meyers managed to sound offended while asking for help.

"If they have only corresponded by letter and never met, why can't you send someone else or, better yet, do it yourself and leave my station house, and Murdoch out of it?"

"Well..number one, I don't speak French," Meyers continued his campaign, "and two, Mr. Hale is considerably younger than I am, and, er... better looking…" He coughed delicately. " And, well, um...number three, Miss Finch and Hale have exchanged photographs."

"Oh for pete's sake! Then just how is Murdoch here supposed to pass for her lover?" Brackenreid leaned forward, questioning such an obviously absurd notion.

Meyers' throat-clearing was more exaggerated now. "The detective here looks remarkably like the photograph of Hale we sent Miss Finch. In fact…" Meyers fished a _carte de visite_ from his jacket pocket to show off. "You will notice the resemblance with…"

The portrait showed a dark-haired man with a mustache and chin-puff goatee. "_Gaetan Vidal ?!" _ William groaned, while his boss snickered. Brackenreid snatched the card for a closer look, comparing the image with his detective.

William's head swayed back and forth, eyes wide and desperate. He never did explain _every_ detail to the Inspector about impersonating a certain French diplomat, the last time Terrence Meyers pressed him into service. As far as William knew he might still be called in at any moment to help sign a new peace treaty as Monsieur Vidal.

"Let's just say Murdoch's performance in that diplomatic business was an inspiration…" Meyers drew a lungful of his cigar and blew it out. "He _has_ done it before…"

William also never shared anything in any depth about _Mademoiselle_ Régine Rivière either, believing that discretion was the better part of valour: the Inspector would rib him even more mercilessly and most importantly Julia would not be amused. He was full-on alarmed now by what Meyers was suggesting and the fact that next to him Brackenreid had a certain gleam in his eye.

Brackenreid smiled. "That's a good point I suppose."

William felt a new flare of worry: _that sounded like the Inspector was intrigued. _"Sir...I really don't think…"

Meyers waved him to silence, speaking rapidly. "I have all the necessities: facial hair, identity papers, key wardrobe, back-story, hotel room, train tickets, ship passes, Miss Finch's correspondence, etcetera...even a script right here in my bag. All it will take is for Murdoch to flatter and pamper the little Miss for a few hours, convince her of his passion and eternal devotion and get her to the train on time with the hydrofoil plans..."

"No! Absolutely not!" William bolted upright, unmindful of how loud he was becoming. What Meyers wanted him to do was beyond the pale. "I will not seduce a young woman for you or anyone else." William was so incensed he stalked out of the Inspector's office and over to his own. He ignored the constables who looked askance at and his uncharacteristic behaviour. He shut his office door and stood at his desk, staring at his wedding photograph. Betraying Julia was not something he was ever going to agree to.

Behind him, Meyers opened the door without knocking. "Mr. Meyers, get out of my office…"

Meyers kept coming, closing the door behind him and approaching William. "Come, now. It is not an _actual_ seduction, you just step inside the persona for a few hours, just as you did before. No one will know. You get the plans, photograph them and you're done, back to your murder investigation in no time."

"No."

"No?" Meyers repeated. "Look, Murdoch, let me put it this way. This is no different than when you became Monsieur Vidal for a couple of days."

"I disagree. You want me, a married man, to seduce a young woman!"

"I want you, a married man to pretend to be someone else for a few hours, someone else who has already seduced the chaste little Miss Finch. Certainly less fraught with sin than masquerading as a French Diplomat with a well-known lover…"

William crossed his arms and put his desk between them. "No."

This time it was Meyers who locked eyes with William, while a toothy smile spread across the spy's face. "Have it your way, Murdoch. But I cannot be responsible for what your wife hears about how you cavorted with Régine. She told me some interesting stories…" He shrugged and left William' office, leaving the door open behind him.

Just as William feared, Meyers was going to try some blackmail on him. He imagined Julia getting an earful of the tale from a most unflattering angle. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. Surely she wouldn't believe Meyers? But then he remembered her possessive, jealous streak that led her to become Sheila Walker.

The blackmail was going to work….

William took himself over to the Inspector's office, closing the door behind him. Brackenreid looked confused and Meyers looked triumphant.

"Ah, Murdoch, you agree your King and country need you." Meyers observed.

William was still thinking furiously, looking for an escape. His right hand shot out, open-fingered, then closed into a fist when he identified the biggest technical problem. "There is no known method I can use to surreptitiously take photographs, especially of documents, at night, on a moving train, no less. The equipment is too big, the light is bad and the images will be blurred rendering them useless. It is impossible, unless you have a special train car set up for me and plan to halt the train?" William launched acerbically, sure he found the biggest flaw in such a ridiculous plan.

"No. No special train." Meyers looked down, and William felt a little triumphant, until Meyers came back up with a tiny device out of his bag. "Detective, this is the newest camera technology, especially created for this assignment. We borrowed the design from Mr. Houghton's workshop in London and Mr. Gregory Heckenbush did some additional modifications. You might remember him from that business with Crabtree and those jumping boots with springs. We have, ah, pressed him into His Majesty's service."

Meyers made sure William received only a glimpse of the mechanism. William's interest was piqued as he did indeed recall Mr. Heckenbush's wonderful, slightly bizarre, devices. His eyes tracked the spy's hand.

"It is a miniaturized camera with film calibrated for low light and which can also compensate for movement, something about special lenses and special film. You would be the first person to use this in the field, Murdoch...if you take the assignment, that is…maybe even get to keep it..." Meyers placed the camera on his outstretched palm. "What do you say, Inspector. May we borrow your detective here?"

Brackenreid was still caught up in the ridiculous idea of Murdoch done up like a Frog and romancing some school girl. This he had to see. "I think there is no harm in it, Murdoch."

"But sir! My current murder case…" William sputtered, trying not to whine. "Julia…" _More to the point, _o_ur luncheon..._

"I'll take care of the Missus. As for your investigation, I think we can manage without you for a few hours. I can have Watts take the lead for the day and Crabtree is already working in it. If anyone asks, I will tell them you were called to Queen's Park at the behest of the Chief Constable." Brackenreid reached for his decanter, pouring two fingers-worth into a pair of glasses, handing one past his detective to Meyers with a conspiratorial wink. "You really think Murdoch can pass for this Édouard Laurent chap well enough?" He turned to his detective. "Besides you understand this hydrofoil contraption to make sure you get the real deal, eh? If you can't pull it off, well...let the bloody French get the blame, I don't mind that at all," he chuckled. "So, Terrence, if you guarantee we won't even notice Murdoch is gone AWOL, I can let you have him, while you," he saluted his detective with scotch, "can use your new little gadget."

William felt as if he'd just been sold.

His hands were firmly around the little camera, though...


	2. Chapter 2

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

"_**Well said, that was laid on with a trowel…" **_

"Here. You have twenty minutes, Murdoch. Better put that famously prodigious memory to work." Terence Meyers handed over a stack of love letters from Mabel Finch to her would-be paramour, Édouard. "You are going to have to guess what Hale sent to Mabel for his responses, but he would have used standard protocol in his correspondence."

William shot Meyers a disgusted look. "Which supplied liberal doses of flattery and promises of the moon and the stars in exchange for the woman's love...and, oh yes, the plans to her godfather's invention?"

Meyers didn't answer, merely sucked on his cigar.

William read the missives while getting made up and dressed as Laurent. The letters started out innocently enough, then week by week Agent Hale manipulated the girl into this preposterous plan, making it seem like it was her idea to finance their future by holding the plans for ransom. After reading a particularly overwrought passage in one of her letters, he turned to Meyers. "It seems that Miss Finch takes a certain delight in defying her hated step-father, Asa Root, who controls her dowry. The man is essentially forcing her to marry one of his business partners in order to get access to that money." William put her pages on the stack. "I can't say I lack sympathy for her position, but..."

Meyers blew another smoke ring. "That's the leverage we had. Agent Hale used that information to divide the girl from her family and further cement their relationship by fueling her righteous indignation…"

"Or perhaps greed?" William interjected.

"Or perhaps greed," Meyers admitted. "As well as feeding feminine desires about being rescued by a knight in shining armour."

William made a face. _Julia never needed that kind of rescuing._ He was, however, impressed with Agent Hale's understanding of psychological motivations and wondered if a psychiatrist consulted with them.

_Or perhaps it was the author of Miss Ladywood's adventures, whoever that was..._

Catching his thoughts moving to his wife instead of the task at hand, he shook his head as if to clear his mind, and picked up another letter. Miss Finch, in turn, was flattered by Laurent's praise for sketches she sent him, appeared impressed by Laurent's worldliness, claimed to be amused by his little jokes, and she loved how he quoted poetry to her. He called her _ma belle_, my pretty and _mon petit oiseau_, my little bird, _taking rather uninspired advantage of the woman's first and last names_, William thought, among other endearments. But what really made her fall in love with him, unaccountably, was his sophisticated knowledge of food. William questioned Meyers on this.

"Miss Finch's stepfather ascribes to Fletcherism and makes his entire family follow that regimen of chewing each mouthful of food up to hundreds of times and then spitting out the fibre." Meyers said with a shudder.

William quite agreed with the poor young lady that it was a revolting practice that took all the pleasure out of eating. "Although in my view," he told Meyers, "I do not think escaping it is a sufficient reason for matrimony." The two men shared a rare smile. "As his wife, it sounds like Laurent promised Miss Finch unlimited gastronomy, a tiny apartment on the _Rive Gauche _and a studio where she could become a famous painter while he wrote his treatise on, of all things, _cheese_." William was astounded anyone could fall for such a wild story, and said so.

"You are repeating yourself." Meyers sighed. "Just keep the lady entertained, Murdoch. With the facial hair and wardrobe, you can pass for Édouard Laurent for the few hours you are in her company. Be light and gay and keep her thinking she has found the love of her life. When in doubt, tell her a few jokes. Women like that."

William knew himself to be hopeless at humour. He would have to rely on Julia having taken him to enough restaurants with varied cuisines to fake the cheese part. William laughed sourly to himself - _Too bad Laurent's expertise was not in red wines, that I might have had something to say about..._

He studied the photograph of Mabel Finch she had sent Laurent. It was a studio portrait. In it she was wearing a white summer dress with slightly puffed sleeves. She was round-cheeked, with blonde hair in a pompadour topped by a small hat, single pearls at her ears and throat. She had dark lashes and her face was unsmiling, as usual for a photograph taken in a formal sitting. Her letters said those eyes were green and that she was five feet, four inches tall. She reminded him a little of a young Dr. Grace.

"What kind of person tosses every convention to the wind, throws her life to a stranger? Was she merely naive? Impulsive?" he mumbled to no one in particular, certainly not expecting any answer from Meyers. _Was she brave and defiant like Emily Grace? Or a fool? _

To William, she merely looked like a child, for all she claimed she was twenty. _Or perhaps I am feeling old, _he thought. "**Ow! **What was that?" he growled to Meyers at a sudden pain in his scalp.

"You had a grey one there, Murdoch. Gotta keep up appearances..."

_Nothing Julia had ever mentioned before. _William managed to avoid dwelling on the fact he was actually old enough to be Mabel's father.

The suit William was in had trousers with cuffs and front and back creases, and felt a little tighter than he was accustomed to. The spy advised that was the newest _Parisian_ fashion but William thought that the dead man whose clothes he was wearing was probably a few pounds lighter. His stiff-collared shirt had stripes and his tie was a narrow four-in-hand, to resemble the photograph Agent Hale had sent Miss Finch.

"Murdoch, here. You'll need this: brandy." Meyers pulled something out of his coat pocket.

William raised a hand to decline. "No, thank you."

"For the spirit-gum, er...the beard and mustache...That stink will dissipate over time, but will be obvious during any, ah-hem, close encounters." The spy winked and laughed as he handed over a small flask.

William gave Meyers a hard stare. The man was clearly enjoying poking at him, despite needing the constabulary's assistance. William added a frown to the stare. He understood why he was helping out but he did not have to like it; he was repelled by the amoral business of spy-craft. "The way you want to use his young woman is despicable. You have no conscience, you know, Meyers."

Meyers simply bowed his head as if accepting a compliment.

William put the flask down, saying nothing about it. Instead he picked up the special cufflinks and inserted them in his shirt. "What else do you have for me?"

* * *

"_**Since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show…"**_

"Inspector?"

Julia gave up ringing William's telephone to only get no answer. She called the desk sergeant, who was equally unhelpful. Needing to stretch her legs, she came over to William's office to give him her initial report, disappointed to find her husband's office dark and empty. There were no constables in the bull-pen. She knew it was early in an investigation and that the men were likely out collecting evidence and completing interviews; however knowing the calibre of bullet was critical to that same evidence collection, and she knew William was keen on getting it as soon as possible. Besides, she wanted to see her husband, just in case he was free for a moment. Inspector Brackenreid was her last resort.

At hearing the coroner's voice, Brackenreid inhaled to prepare himself, putting his newspaper and glasses down and snubbing out his cigar so he did not waste any of the very good Cuban. It had been a very long time since he had indulged because Margaret disapproved, but cadging a few of Meyers' cigars was his payment for reassigning Murdoch to him for this 'Romeo' job.

_Show time…_"Yes, doctor. How can I help you?"

"I am here because William wanted to know the calibre of the bullet as soon I retrieved it, to help the constables in their search." She brought out a small glass vial, a grey lump of metal in the bottom. "I make it out to be a .32 calibre. You can see it is only a little damaged. Do you know why he was called away this morning and do you know where William is now? He was anxious to match rifling marks."

"Thank you, doctor. I'll take that and let the lads know. Any luck on a more definitive time of death?"

"I have Miss Hart working on that. About William…"

"The detective was called away by Queen's Park for a meeting, a series of meetings in fact, about your book on crime solving getting used by the constabulary." Brackenreid thought that was a brilliant improvisation. _Meyers was not the only one who could work an audience._ "It might take him a while. There will be a lot of boring talk. You know how these things are.."

"Indeed. Perhaps I should be there as well? I am a co-author of the book, Inspector. Where in Queen's Park is it?" Julia felt irate that she had not been included, gathering her hands to her hips. "The book is also useful for coroners. I can advocate for that."

Brackenreid realized his mistake immediately. "Oh...well, of course, of course, doctor. But, unfortunately the meeting was moved to the Albany Club, and it might go very late. There will be a dinner... No ladies allowed...so, er.. you will have to trust your husband to the negotiations."

Julia blinked. It was very unlike her husband to relinquish an investigation, but, oddly, he was also quite taken with promoting their manual. Perhaps it has been less of an invitation and more on an order. "I take it he was not given much choice in the matter, inspector?"

"No. No he was not. The investigation is in capable hands: mine, yours, Crabtree's, Watts'. Miss Hart is looking at time of death as you say. Besides, if all goes well, the proposal to use your book will be forwarded to Ottawa, so you can see that there is a good reason for his absence. Now, let me have that bullet." He accepted it from her. "Are there any more preliminary findings relevant to the case...?"


	3. Chapter 3

_**CHAPTER THREE**_

"_**I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine." **_

William sat outside a modest Toronto tea-house on Victoria, chosen for its proximity to Miss Finch's room at the King Edward Hotel, wishing he was waiting for Julia. Instead he watched for Mabel Finch's arrival and sipped tea on the terrace, careful not to let steam loosen his mustache. Unfortunately Meyers had been right about the spirit-gum smell needing covering up. He brought out the flask, putting a touch of brandy in his cup, also carefully, because he needed his wits about him. He scanned the busy street anxiously. Miss Finch was late, according to Laurent's rather large timepiece. He started to worry again the whole thing was unravelling before it ever began, sparing an angry thought for Meyers for using a young woman this way. Taking advantage of her, even if it was pseudo-advantage, made William feel...dirty.

In his jacket were two tickets to Niagara Falls on the last train from Union Station, and a promise of a romantically-inclined Justice of the Peace on call for a quick wedding. William had a simple gold band in his pocket for the ceremony. For additional verisimilitude, he also had reservations at the Hotel Lafayette in Buffalo for a one-night honeymoon and tickets on to New York City where they'd board a liner for _Le Havre_, passes for which were also in his pocket, all there to show Mabel that Édouard Laurent's intentions were deeply sincere.

"_I expect the unused tickets to be returned for a refund, the ring and all my top-secret gadgets back in one piece, Murdoch," _Meyers had told him. He even made William sign a receipt. "_His Majesty's bureaucracy," _ the spy explained.

If all went according to plan, William and Miss Finch would meet, have tea, swear everlasting love, burgle the inventor's desk in a few hours, then run giddily to the train, hydrofoil plans in tow. _The only saving grace, if one could call it that, is that Miss Finch seems to be over-eager to please and not too bright,_ William thought. He supposed that was an essential element to make it work.

William would be finished photographing the hydrofoil schematics and off the train by the Hamilton station at the latest, leaving poor Miss Finch to unhappily conclude she'd been jilted, and go back to Toronto heartbroken and, hopefully, wiser. William felt horrible to deceive her this way, and tried to rationalize that the wisdom she will gain will be worth it. If he'd been a real gigolo then the poor woman would lose both her money and her innocence and be ruined.

Since none of that was going to happen, William could go home to Julia and wake up with her tomorrow, taking up where they had left off when they were so rudely interrupted this morning. Or wake her up when he got in if he could not wait...

In a minute or two William's smile wore off, scowl returning, impatient to get this over with. As he placed his cup in the saucer, a woman in a tan-coloured traveling suit approached the terrace. She was hurrying along which made her flowered parasol bob and swing. When she saw him, she stopped dead, dropped the sunshade then clutched her chest. She collected herself, then walked directly to him. It was too late for misgivings. William smiled again, rose to meet her, bowing over her hand with a kiss. "Mabel, _Ma belle. Ma belle vie." _

"Is it really _you_, Édouard? **My** Édouard? Oh, I love the sound of that," she gushed, reaching to hug him. "Gracious…" she looked him up and down. "You are so much more handsome than your photograph!" Her cheeks were flushed. She stood very close to him, bosom heaving, her hand in his, gazing intently in his face. "I can't believe this. I can't believe I am doing this…but you are here, with me, finally…!"

"_Oui._ I am here with you, now." He embraced her and kissed each of her rosy cheeks, offering a stanza of poetry just as 'Édouard' did in his letters.

"'_Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,_

_Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends._

_J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne._

_Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.'"_

"Victor Hugo?! Oh, you remembered!" Mabel giggled as he set her at arm's length, clearly delighted by his recitation.

She did not seem to mind (or know) that the poem was actually about visiting a grave. William was not surprised. He gave her another glowing smile. "And you are more lovely than I could have dreamed of, Mabel, _ma belle_. Our, how you say, destiny awaits. _S_'_il_ _vous_ _plaît,_ sit with me, so I can look at you…" William guided her on his arm to a table inside the shop, where they could talk quietly without attracting too much attention.

"Oh, Édouard, you are so strong," she whispered, squeezing his biceps.

He noticed her eyes were striking, a light olive green, bright and shining. _Quite remarkable_, he thought. Her photograph did not really capture the energy she possessed; in person she was youthful but did not look like a child.

"_Ma belle_. Did you escape your chaperone? Get away unnoticed?" he asked with genuine concern.

Meyers' instructions were to move this along before Miss Finch could get caught (or get cold feet). He was also told to reuse language and references from her letters to reinforce their relationship. William hoped Meyers also supplied enough excuses and explanations to fend off any close questioning. As for his style as a lover, William needed a role model: men who were bold with women. He consciously adopted a little bit of Inspectors Guillaume and Brackenreid, and a little James Pendrick and even George Crabtree; _not _Shakespeare's Romeo. Of his other options, _Henry Higgins-Newsome,_ he thought wryly, _was a bit too far..._

Mabel leaned over the table, grasping both his hands in hers. Her fingers were long and danced in his palms. "I think so, for half an hour at least. I will have my freedom soon, so I can become _Madame_ Laurent. Oh, how I love that sound of that too!"

"I will not fail you." William found the lie on his tongue and said it, imagining Inspector Guillaume's inflection and George's sincerity. "I have the tickets right here." William retrieved the seat reservations to Niagara Falls from his pocket to show them to her, and showed her the ring, passing it over for her inspection.

"Oh, it is beautiful, Édouard." Mabel admired the gold band.

"_Bien sûr. _We will be married this very night." William felt exceedingly awkward, asking a strange woman to marry him on sight when it took him, what, nine years, to finally tie the knot with Julia? Mabel just smiled and petted the ring. "We only need to get the diagrams from your godfather, Mr. Meacham."

"Yes. Tonight he and his associates will all be at a charity ball for the survivors of the San Francisco earthquake, as guests of Mr. Baldwin. I have begged off, saying I am feeling poorly. The gala starts at nine P.M. We can get the drawings and be on our way just as they are arriving at the venue."

"Excellent. So the plan is as we agreed." He retrieved the tickets and the ring, returning them to his pocket, then taking her hand in his. "Ah, _ma belle_, in the meantime, let us have our tea and allow me hear your sweet voice, so that now I can know what your words sound like, and tell me all that you could not find room for in your letters. I have them all, you know…"

He listened patiently as Miss Finch gushed to him her whole life story and her concerns about how he was going to obtain the plans and get them out of the country tonight. In fact, William wanted to run and get Meacham's diagrams right away, but he had to slow down and complete his courtship of his new 'fiancée' to get her talking about herself and comfortable that William was successful in his disguise as Agent Hale, romancing Miss Finch as Édouard Laurent. It might be necessary, but it made his head hurt as he tried to keep up.

When her flood of words stopped abruptly he was startled into paying attention. "What is it?" he asked, what he hoped was solicitously.

She let go of his hands, pulling hers back into her lap as if she suddenly remembered she was a young woman with a reputation to protect. "The time! I have overstayed and I must go, too soon, too soon." She rose abruptly. "I have to get back. Oh, Édouard it is so hard to be parted from you, now that we have been together. Just imagine, by this time tomorrow we will be on our honeymoon! Here," she reached into her pocketbook and handed him a slip of paper. "This is my room number. I am next door to my godfather's suite. Come up the backstairs. Don't be caught!" she added nervously.

William stood, moving her chair aside to join her. "_Oui_, I will be careful. We are, how do you say it, almost home free." He was actually feeling confident this was going to work. He embraced her again, kissing her fingers, then took her arm to walk her to the street where they would part ways. Just as they were about to say good-bye, a very loud bang startled them, making her jump. William swung around to find where it came from only to see a coach-and-four bearing down on them, the wheels scraping the curb and the driver struggling to control his frightened black horses. Without thinking, he picked her up off her feet and moved Mabel out of the way, narrowly escaping the coach as it jumped the curb onto the sidewalk, the rear slewing around. Other tea-house patrons scattered on the terrace, knocking chairs and tables aside, a couple women screamed in fright. The driver did not get his horses in hand for another fifty feet.

William held her tightly in his arms. Mabel Finch was small and light, and he swore he could feel her heart beating like a bird. "Are you all right, er..._ma belle_?" In the excitement he almost forgot to add his accent.

Mabel nodded, still holding on to him. "I am even more glad you are so strong. But I think right now I may also need something stronger than tea. You have a flask, do you not?" She patted his jacket where the solid metal had pressed against her flesh when he picked her up.

He put her down, suddenly uncomfortable, as people were taking note of them. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely," she gasped. Despite it being public broad daylight, she accepted the liquor, taking a lady-like sip before handing it back. "You saved my life, Édouard. You were wonderful," she exclaimed, loud enough to be overheard. She threw her hand around his neck and reached for his lips to kiss him.

William redirected her lips to his cheek, especially since there was an audience and a few people were clapping. While he did so, he looked at the reflection in the shop window of what was behind him_. Good Lord! Is that Julia? _Even if it wasn't her, it was not good to have the two of them seen. Keeping his back to the street, he hustled Mabel around the corner. Now _his _heart was really pounding. He moved her away from him, making a critical appraisal. "Your outfit has gotten dirt on it, your hem is torn, as is your sleeve. You must go back, now, before you are discovered missing." He saw her face go from smiling to a slight pout, then her eyes got round and her face fell. She scrambled away from him, brushing her skirt and pulling at the bottom of her jacket.

"What is wrong…?" Her hasty change of attitude did not bode well. He turned to look where she was fixed on a tall, good-looking man in a tweed suit, walking determinedly their way. Before he could react, Mabel called out.

"Mr. Greenwaldt! Over here." She waved to the man. "I am so glad to see you. The most awful thing just happened," she gushed at him, wringing a handkerchief which suddenly appeared in her hand.

"Miss Finch. I am very surprised to find you out here. I understood you were indisposed and resting in your room. Mr. Meacham will not be pleased if he does not find you there." The man kept walking, taking in the sight of Mabel and her torn skirt, radiating disapproval with Mabel's escort. "And who are you to be so familiar with Miss Finch, sir?" This he directed at William. He stopped only when he separated William and Mabel by putting himself between them.

William saw intelligence in the man's hazel eyes, and his own brain ran through about a dozen reasons why this was not going to turn out well, since the whole plan relied on secrecy. He met Mabel's gaze and saw her shake her head slightly.

Mabel spoke quickly, dabbing at her cheeks with her white linen square then flicking off some of the dust from her cuff. "Mr. Greenwaldt, this man just saved my life from being run over by a carriage. You can see the damage to the tea-shop the ruckus caused. I owe him everything!" She smiled disarmingly, then dipped her head in a blush. "Where are my manners? Let me introduce you. Mr. Harvey Greenwaldt, this is…"

William went along with it. "Édouard Laurent, _à votre service_. At your service, sir."

"Monsieur Édouard Laurent, this is Mr. Harvey Greenwaldt, my godfather's secretary. Mr. Greenwaldt, this is Monsieur Laurent, my hero."

William held out his hand. Mr. Greenwaldt took it reluctantly. "I see. Thank you Monsieur Laurent, for your timely action. Now, Miss Finch, I must insist that you come with me directly. Since you are obviously recovered enough to socialize, you will be well enough to accompany us to the Charity Ball tonight as well. Your godfather, Mr. Meacham will be pleased for your company, and will be especially keen to have you close after he learns of your near miss." Greenwaldt took Mabel's arm. "Good day, sir. On behalf of my employer, I thank you again." To Mabel he said. "Mr. Meacham's schedule has been altered. He will be arriving to the venue earlier than planned for supper with an investor. We need to go now." He tried to steer her away, but Mabel shook him off.

"But, Mr. Greenwaldt, I must thank Monsieur Laurent for his bravery and kindness."

"A reward?" Greenwaldt had a sour look on his face, then shrugged and pulled out his wallet.

William held up a hand in protest. "_Non. C'est impossible_. I was happy to help this lovely lady." He was anxiously thinking of a way to rescue the situation, especially since Mabel was trapped into going to the fundraiser and it sounded like the hydrofoil plans were not going to be safely in the inventor's travelling desk, but were going to be on his person at the Ball. He tried to catch Mabel's eye, to make sure she also understood the implications.

She winked at William. "Mr. Greenwaldt, the reward I was thinking of was to invite Monsieur Laurent to the Ball as my escort. I am sure my godfather would like to meet the man who saved my life, don't you agree?"

Mr. Greenwaldt was not persuaded. "Miss Finch, that may be a great imposition on Monsieur Laurent, and this encounter can hardly be called a formal introduction. I think that…"

Mabel interrupted. "Nonsense! Monsieur Laurent, will you do me the honor of escorting me to the Charity Ball this evening? Oh, please?"

William looked from Mabel to Mr. Greenwaldt's face. Mable was quick on her feet, he saw, perhaps brighter than she sounded in her letters. He bowed as elegantly as possible. "_Mais oui_. How can I turn down the chance to accompany such a charming lady?"

"Wonderful! Let me give you the details." Mabel pulled William aside, a short distance away from Mr. Greenwaldt.

"I thought our association was to be a secret?" William whispered.

"Apparently not anymore, but now we have a reason _to_ associate. I have a new plan, all you have to do is show up. We can still get away, my love." she whispered back. Louder she said, "I will meet you at the entrance to the ballroom at nine."

There was nothing left for William to say, especially since Mr. Greenwaldt was pointedly looking at his watch. "_Au Revoir, Mademoiselle_ Finch, I will see you later tonight." He bowed again over her hand to kiss it, then tipped his hat to Mr. Greenwaldt. He made sure to depart in the opposite direction they were going with a nonchalant stride. After two blocks, he stopped, sagging against the side of a brick wall.

_Now what?_


	4. Chapter 4

_**CHAPTER FOUR **_

"_**The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool."**_

"...Murdoch, you are making too much of this. Nothing important has changed."

"**Nothing important?!"** Over the telephone line, William could hear the spy leisurely inhale his cigar and exhale the smoke, as if there was no crisis to solve. William was infuriated. He took a breath to calm down and refrain from shouting again. "Meyers," he insisted, "instead of anonymously entering a hotel room and rifling a desk, I am now going to be attending a ball, one at which I might be recognized. Your hydrofoil will be hard to steal in the middle of that!" He paced, tried to keep himself from raising his voice. "You need a whole new plan. I cannot go to that Charity Ball!"

"Yes you can, and you will. Follow the plan, Murdoch. Remain in Agent Hale's hotel room as Édouard Laurent. Stay in your disguise. Have dinner from the hotel sent up to the room and look in Hale's wardrobe; there should be a set of evening clothes you can wear. Take the camera with you to the ball, mingle with Mr. Meacham's party and if you get a chance, acquire and photograph the plans there. If you do, then give us the signal so that my other operative can get the camera from you. I will make sure he gets a ticket to the ball. Then all you need to do is get little Miss Finch on the last train out of Toronto with the paper schematics and you have done your duty. You don't even have to ride the train at all. Get her to her seat and then you get off the train right at the station, sending her on her way. Easy as pie."

William thought about that. He liked the sound of being home by morning. "You think it will be that simple?" he asked.

"Look, Murdoch. How likely is it you will be recognized? As often as your face is in the papers, and as socially connected as your wife is, who will imagine that a young Frenchman with a mustache and beard is actually a certain Toronto Police detective, especially if he is not accompanied by his wife?" Meyers sounded as if that was only reasonable.

"Yes, I suppose," Wiliam said, unconvinced. "And the hydrofoil?"

"If you can get the plans this evening, great. If not, they will be back in Meacham's travelling desk later tonight. There may be a delay when you can obtain them, but the plan remains the same. The point is to make sure that it looks like Miss Finch was the one who removed them and her motives had nothing to do with national security."

"Or with His Majesty's government, or Prime Minister Laurier for that matter?" William sincerely wondered if the PM even knew about this operation.

Meyers chuckled through the earpiece. "Precisely. Now you are catching on to the subtleties of the game, Murdoch."

_Or the insanity,_ William thought. "And you will have a back-up plan for me if I cannot obtain the hydrofoil drawings one way or the other tonight?"

"Sure we will, Murdoch. Trust me."

_Not on a bet,_ William thought. He just _knew_ the spy had another false smile on his face. There was a long silence on the telephone before he made his decision.

* * *

"_**Do you think because you are virtuous, that there shall be no more cakes and ale?**_

"What is it, Julia? You usually have more _joie de vivre_, more verve in your attitude. You look positively as deflated as a souffle with a fork in it." Oscar Ducharme removed the seventh through tenth silk scarf which his customer had been considering, but who, sadly, showed no genuine interest in purchasing. He was worried. Julia Ogden was usually a fully-involved participant in the shopping experience, enjoying a glass of champagne with him as they discussed fabric, or jewels, or cosmetic enhancements, while indulging in harmless gossip. He refilled her glass. "There, that should help," he said encouragingly.

''Thank you." Julia saw his smile move the exquisitely trimmed black mustache on his dark face, making both smile and mustache curl in that way she always found most endearing. She sighed, aware she had not been very successful hiding her ennui. "I'm sorry, Oscar. I guess my heart's not in it."

She'd been in Oscar's boutique for almost half an hour with nothing striking her fancy. She brought herself there on a whim, looking to fill her time, maybe for a small diversion. There were no classes to teach or prepare for at the university, no surgeries or patients to tend to at the hospital, no psychiatric patients in need, nothing to do at the morgue since completing her autopsy on the John Doe she and William found this morning. And as it happened, the citizens of Toronto decided not to murder or maim each other today….so there was really no reason for her to stay at work.

Therefore Julia Ogden, a woman with four occupations, had nothing whatsoever to do.

Ordinarily she would have sought out her husband, but he was going to be occupied into the wee hours. It would likely take a murder to fetch him out of his meetings tonight, and she did not wish to hope for a death, merely in order to see him. She felt sorry for him because she knew how deadly tedious these dinner meetings were, especially since he was unlikely to enjoy the fare and would not be imbibing. She snickered to herself. _He'll be the one wishing for a new murder before the night is out, probably of one of the stuffy old men who were running the meetings... _

She shook off her dark thoughts, noticing Oscar was waiting patiently for her. Impulsively, she rattled off her complaint: "I, er...well, unexpectedly I have no plans, and my husband is otherwise occupied. I am just not sure what to do with myself."

Oscar smiled, sliding a small box her way along the jewelry counter with one of his immaculately manicured hands. "Chocolates…?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**CHAPTER FIVE**_

"_**Do you not know I am a woman? When I think I must speak." **_

The grand ballroom in the Great Hall was crowded with Toronto's wealthiest citizens, dressed in their most elegant red, white or blue finery to symbolize solidarity with the American city of San Francisco, and every one of them, it seemed to William, was talking at once. The business portion of the evening, the Charity Auction for Earthquake Relief had just concluded and the dance was about to begin. He was standing with Mabel Finch in a small alcove, where an open window provided some air and the first opportunity for them to talk with any privacy. She employed a fan of the same light blue lace as her dress to help the circulation along. Mabel raised her voice over the ballroom's din.

"My godfather was not so difficult to meet, was he Édouard?" She waved genially at the man who just departed.

"_Non, ma belle_, he was _trés_ _courtois_, very gracious, to indulge you with an invitation for me, even though you are officially betrothed to another, as far as he is aware."

She placed her hand gently on his lapel. "You know, as grateful as he is, he did warn me about not being seduced by the charms of a Frenchman. Imagine that!" she laughed and winked.

William lurched inside, his breath catching. _Too close to home. _He forced himself to match her laugh. "He seems to be very fond of you, surely he is only trying to protect you." William liked Meacham. He was feeling bad about stealing from the man.

Mabel frowned a bit, seeming to read his mind. "Yes. William Meacham has always been kind to my mother and me; he was my father's closest friend. My godfather had not seen me since I was four, at my father's funeral. I barely remember him, but he always stayed in touch. When I told my family that I wanted to have just one trip on my own before my wedding, and that I wanted more than anything to see my godfather again, Mother overrode my stepfather's objections, to let me come...Also...my stepfather is afraid of him I think." She lowered her lashes. "My godfather was outraged at how my stepfather has been treating me, and sympathetic to my not wanting to marry the man that was picked out for me. I feel terrible about betraying him, but I think he will understand, and I know he will make my stepfather pay!"

She gripped William's arm, and he patted her gloved hand. They stood very close to each other, much too close for William's comfort, yet it made sense that Mabel, wildly in love with Édouard, would have trouble keeping her distance, especially since her secret _fiancé_ just saved her life. He sent a furtive look across the ballroom; so far no one seemed particularly interested in the two of them.

Mabel seemed to think he was scanning the room to take advantage of a moment for intimacy. She positioned him with his back to the room, then moved her body against his, reaching for a kiss. Her lips were on his before he knew it.

He squirmed away. "_D__ésolé, ma belle_, we must have _discrétion_," he said as he came up for air and unwound her arms from his neck. He hoped his face was not as red as it felt. When she pouted, he moved to rescue the situation. "_Ma belle_, my dearest Mabel, _le seul vrai language au monde est un baiser_. There is nothing more that I wish for in the world than to be away from here and have you to myself, but…"

Mabel put her hand to her face. "Oh my goodness, Édouard, you are so right. You will forgive me, won't you?" She looked up at him, blinking rapidly. "I lost control of myself for a moment, while you have been a complete gentleman with me, always. But, I must say it was worth it to have my first real kiss from you." She gave a single delicate stroke to his beard. "You know, Édouard, my mother always says to marry a man with a beard because men who possess them are more patient, have no problems with commitment, and that any man who has me for a wife must have both qualities in his character." She moved only a half step back and attended to the sweep of her skirt, all the while looking at him flirtatiously. "I think it adds to your aura of mystery, mystery which will be revealed soon, very soon.".

What _had_ Agent Hale promised this woman? Not having access to Hale's letters to Mabel was a more serious problem than he first realized. William's eyes darted around the room again. This was the part that worried William the most, that young Miss Finch had _expectations_ of Édouard, expectations William was not ever, _ever_ going to fulfill. Out of the corner of his vision he thought he saw a flash of scarlet which disappeared behind a large fern. Good Lord! In a room full of women in red dresses, he was so nervous his imagination was seeing Julia behind every potted plant! He cleared his throat to steady his voice.

"_Oui,_ Soon, _ma belle_, soon. _La Rive Gauche_ awaits," he placated. "Right now we must finish what we really came here for, _n'est-ce pas_?" William wanted her to work on their problem, not on her romance. "Tell me about which men might have the plans or know where they are. For instance, who is that young man next to Mr. Meacham and Mr. Greenwaldt?" William indicated a young college-aged man, with longish dark hair parted in the center and a prominently cleft chin, whom William thought looked decidedly out of place.

"That is Mr. Frederick Walker Baldwin. His friends call him Casey. I am told he has an extraordinary mind, or at least my godfather thinks so. He is the grandson of Robert Baldwin, you know, and hosted my godfather for a lecture at the University of Toronto. And that, over there, is Mr. Liam Payne." She gestured with her fan to a darkly handsome man, dressed in a set of evening clothes which the man wore with ease. "He is my godfather's new library researcher and model maker. I cannot imagine what he is doing here," Mabel giggled. "He hardly seems to be the type to care for those poor unfortunates in San Francisco, and I don't imagine my godfather pays him enough to be able to afford the cost of a ticket."

William thought that was an astute observation. The more time he spent with her the more he thought Mabel had flashes of common sense even if she exclaimed 'Oh' more than necessary.. "Ah, so he is here to become acquainted with his betters? _Ma belle_, this social climbing is not uncommon, but when we are in _Paris_, we will not need to impress any of the _bourgeoisie_." He brought his lips closer to her ear. "How will we find out who has the hydrofoil plans?"

Mabel made a face as if she was thinking this through. "Oh, oh..I've got it!" Mabel bounced a little on her toes. "I will dance with each of them while you socialize!" She announced, smiling broadly, her green eyes alight. "A lady might be able to hide something in her skirts, but where would a gentleman hide a large amount of paper?" she reasoned, seeming caught up in the excitement.

William agreed that was a problem. He himself was sporting a new evening suit he was told was called a 'tuxedo' which had a short, fitted jacket. _Quite_ fitted in this case, because Agent Hale had been slightly thinner and less muscular than William was. Finding a place for the little spy camera took some doing. William was dressed conspicuously differently than most of the men attending the gala, something Meyers said was not a problem as it would further the illusion of William being on the younger side by wearing this particular evening costume, much less formal than his usual white tie and tailed coat.

While William was woolgathering, Mabel prattled on. "Yes. That will work splendidly. I shall dance with each man. It is more proper for me to circulate, after all, than spend my time and all my dances with you, Édouard, as much as I wish it. I can talk with each of them while we dance, perhaps innocently ask about their business meeting and you can make your own small talk while you watch me dance." Then her face fell. "Oh, but will that make you jealous, Édouard, to see me in another man's arms?"

William did not know exactly how to answer that, but he smiled to himself; being married to Julia meant normal rules of convention did not necessarily apply...ultimately, he knew, to his great pleasure. However, he felt pretty secure that romancing Miss Finch required less Inspector Guillaume _laissez faire_ and more singular ardor. A passage from Miss Ladywood's book came to mind. "_Mais oui, ma belle_ Mabel, er...my passions will burn to see you so close to another man when I cannot possess you yet. I can bear it only because our future depends on it." He gave her a serious look and kissed her hand. "If you think it is not on their persons, then we can hope it is somewhere here at the venue or perhaps sent back to the hotel."

Mabel nodded towards the orchestra which was now seated and preparing to start. "Shall we take the floor?"

William's smile froze._._.His repertoire was limited to waltzing and the military two step. He was just learning the polka-_All that sideways leaping_, he thought warily. Before he could answer, she spread her fan to draw against her right cheek, leaving only above her nose exposed, dragging his arm towards the dance floor while a Frédéric François Chopin waltz melody filled the space.

"_Bien_ _sûr." _He recovered quickly, placed his arm around her waist, taking her hand in his. He'd never danced with anyone other than Julia. _If you did not count Professor Otranto_, he found the awkward memory funny. Mabel felt compliant, light and insubstantial, clinging to his arms. He gave her his most winning smile. "At least your first dance will be with me, _ma belle_."

She brightened, laughing lightly. "Better. Even though we are not yet wed, I shall think of this as our first dance as man and wife, then you can get me a refreshment."

* * *

"**...And then the lover,**

**Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad**

**Made to his mistress' eyebrow…"**

Across the ballroom, Dr. Isaac Tash handed a sparkling glass to each of his companions. They were watching the swirl of dancers, commenting on the women's gowns and the men's physiques.

"Mmm, thank you. Ah, well...this champagne is serviceable," Oscar DuCharme commented, "while what I serve to my select customers is better."

"Indeed…" Tash said, but his attention was not on his drink, it was instead on a collection of people currently on the dance floor. The woman standing next to him nudged him in the ribs.

"See anyone you like?" she asked. Many years ago, she and Isaac discovered they had similar taste in many areas, including men. She studied his oval face for a reaction to her innuendo.

Tash nearly choked on a swallow. "Oh, Julia, you are incorrigible." Tash's cheeks took on a guilty flush, but he snuck another look at a man who was waltzing a young beauty.

DuCharme chuckled. "I presume you already knew that, Dr. Tash, having been acquainted with Julia for so many years…"

"No doubt, Mr. DuCharme. No doubt. I believe at one point I called her a 'pistol'. I suppose I should not be surprised it could be aimed at me…" Tash's merriment showed no hard feelings. Both men eyed each other, then laughed out loud.

Julia laughed along with them. "I merely have excellent powers of observation, gentlemen, and I am _so _glad that you two find me amusing." She quaffed some of her drink. "I am also happy, Oscar, that you encouraged me to come out tonight. It has indeed lifted my mood, with your good conversation and excellent company, gentlemen. And you were right, Oscar, my dress may be seven years old, but it fits me well, and I would not be comfortable in the newest fashions with all those trims and flounces."

"A lady should wear her dress, not the other way around," DuCharme opined while pitching his eyebrows to a few of the females around the room. "There is enough lace, silk cord and netting on the women here to put sails on a three-masted schooner." The three of them laughed again, enjoying the repartee. "And the gown on that tyrant of a matron…" Oscar's face said it all, mock shock and outrage.

"I imagine certain women can calculate down to the month and year a dress was produced, as well as the yards and pennies it took to make," Julia observed.

Oscar sighed. "How true. While many here are in attendance, I am sure, out of charitable affection towards San Francisco, I think for many, this event is to show off wealth, and hope that the more elusive qualities of class and prestige can be obtained by mere proximity. Present company excepted, of course."

Isaac and Julia had already commented on how few of Toronto's genuine elite remained to dance, the majority of whom gave their donation and returned home after the auction. Julia also noticed Isaac had become more cynical with age.

"This event is open to the public, therefore not one with any cachet or social reciprocity." Issac pointed out slyly. "Since the young have no money to spare and the old have no stamina to stay up until midnight dancing, that leaves this room to the well-heeled middle aged _Bourgeoisie_ like ourselves."

Oscar laughed. "Dr. Tash, did you possibly just call the three of us _gauche_?"

Julia's eyes popped wide. "Oscar, don't you think a little bad taste adds a touch of interest?" she countered.

"You always did think conformity was boring," Tash jumped in quickly with a grin. "The men are nearly indistinguishable as always: dark suits, white shirts, black shoes. Look at Mr. DuCharme and myself." He paused for effect. "We could almost be twins!"

The tall, lanky, open-faced doctor, and the solid, cocoa-skinned, fastidious entrepreneur, deliberately stood side by side for Julia to review, each wearing impeccable formal attire. "Indeed," she saluted them, laughing gaily, while congratulating herself again on coming to this ball rather than moping at home.

Tash gestured towards the room. "The ladies tonight show the most variety, don't you think?"

"Perhaps…" Julia covertly nudged his ribs again and took another sip, letting a smile form on her lips. "A little spice keeps things from being predictable and mundane, don't you agree?" She could not help thinking about William and the extent of their lovemaking, how each of them continue to surprise the other. She found her thoughts drifting along those lines...

DuCharme snorted delicately, bringing her abruptly back. "A pinch of spice, not an entire tin of the stuff blown around!" he scoffed. "Your dress, Julia, is hardly in bad taste, and is proper for your age and station. That lady over there with an iron grip on her daughter must know that she does not compare well to youth. And no suiter will approach the young miss, knowing what to expect by looking at his potential mother-in-law."

Julia objected. "I think you should rather be sorry for the girl, Oscar. That mother will hold her daughter too tightly, like crushing the stem of a lily so it cannot draw up water, and must inevitably wilt."

"Fortunately, not every parent can successfully dictate to their progeny. Perhaps the young girl has more stiffness in her spine than a corset." Tash nodded to Julia and raised his glass in the girl's direction.

"We can indeed hope so," she said, swapping her empty glass for a fresh one to join the toast. She felt pleased by Isaac's endorsement. "I think she certainly deserves a dance from each of you, gentlemen," Julia pronounced, tapping her toe to the orchestra's rhythm. "And I expect at least one dance from each of you, since I do not seem to know any of the other people here tonight. Then I think I shall retire early."

"Surgery in the morning, Julia?" Tash automatically assumed a reason for her abstinence. "Then that is your last glass for the evening."

She merely sipped more champagne and gave an enigmatic smile. Placing her glass on a small table, she took Oscar DuCharme's arm, walking him to the dance floor for the next waltz, a Strauss tune.

Julia hid her ulterior motive for leaving early behind that smile: She had hatched a plan while dressing for the evening, becoming more enamoured with the scheme as the evening's champagne took effect. _I can greet my husband tonight when he gets back from his meetings while I am still wearing this dress, and he can get me out of it… _she giggled, causing Oscar to raise an eyebrow at her. "Oh, nothing important, just thinking that you and Isaac should also offer to dance with the mother as well... " she lied. Oscar was a superb dancer, and she found herself letting go again, enjoying the three-quarter rhythm of the music and the swirl of her red gown.

_I just hope that William will not lose any of the buttons when he takes it off me_…


	6. Chapter 6

_**CHAPTER SIX**_

"_**We that are true lovers run into strange capers…"**_

_Here we go again_, William thought wearily about his companions. "_Désolé. _I cannot say that I have enjoyed every type of Ontario cheddar, Mr. Greenwaldt, are there truly so many? I have been looking primarily at Quebec's offering of a _Port-du-Salut_ called Oka, and attempts at _Camembert. _ None are at their peak of _excellence_. I understand cheddar is actually your country's second largest export after timber. _C'est vrai?_" William tried to say this in a superior manner, pretending to sip champagne. All he knew from exposure to Dr Lewellyn Frances, one-time Toronto coroner, was that Canadian cheese was to be despised by any Eurpoean with a modicum of taste, probably doubly so for a Frenchman.

As a gentleman, William knew it was rude to check one's watch while one was socially engaged, especially in the company of a lady, but he couldn't help noticing he was running out of time. Or, rather, 'Édouard' and Mabel were running out of time to get the hydrofoil plans and escape on the train. He stood trying to chat with Harvey Greenwaldt, Casey Baldwin and Liam Payne while Mabel danced with Mr. Meacham again; her godfather insisted, interrupting her chance to dance with Mr. Payne. Mabel was right, Casey Baldwin had a very agile, scientific mind and it frustrated William no end he could not enjoy an opportunity for scientific discourse with him and Mr. Meacham whilst in the guise of Édouard Laurent. Coming up with other things to keep the conversation alive was slow going.

He deliberately kept his back to the dance floor while Mr. Greenwaldt earnestly extolled the virtue of Canadian cows. Meacham's secretary seemed to have forgotten his earlier skepticism of Édouard Laurent - William suspected alcohol had something to do with it. _It is a good thing I subscribe to an encyclopedia, and always read the installments cover to cover, including about the Canadian dairy industry. _ The knowledge helped him add questions at just the right point to keep Greenwaldt talking. _No wonder Julia finds such articles too dry..._

Listening to Greenwaldt drone on, William released most of his anxiety about being recognized, but did not wish to take any chances, staying on the side and not circulating, keeping his face towards the wall, so he was startled when Mabel swept by to invite Liam Payne to complete the dance with her, Mr. Meacham having begged off. _Or surrendered_, William guessed. The military two-step took stamina.

...Julia was equally startled to discover that where Isaac's attention had wandered to was the posterior of a dark-haired man with a trim, muscular physique, the same man she'd caught him appreciating earlier. Her senses tingled when she glimpsed a familiar hand grasping a wine glass. Julia nearly pulled Isaac off his feet while the couples moved on the dance floor, in order to get a better look at the man in an unconventional suit, sporting facial hair and drinking champagne. She took in his hips then checked out his face, gasping in surprise. _William?! _ _I'd know those eye-lashes and that gluteus maximus anywhere! _

Tash let his eyes graze the man who so captured the attention of his dancing partner. "_Et tu,_ Julia?" He smiled conspiratorially, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated twitch. "If you want to lead, just say so…"

"What…?" Julia was quickly working through her shock. _William called abruptly away… agreeing to interrupt a murder investigation...Now I find him done up in a disguise..._She knitted her brows. _Tom's awkward explanation…_She recalled the Inspector when she came into his office_. And that __cigar!__...Of course, __**Terrence Meyers!**_

She and Isaac were halfway around the ballroom before she put it all together. She _had_ seen William on the street earlier today as well. Terrence Meyers, no doubt, meant trouble, but as William was promised to be home tonight, whatever brought Meyers to Toronto could not be all that difficult or dangerous. _Perhaps I need to leave sleeping dogs lie, as Tom would colourfully advise?_ The other part of her wanted to have fun with the moment. The music ended and she was lost in thought, walking back with Isaac to where Oscar was waiting. She almost confided in her companions that her husband was here in order to pull them into the fun as well, when she saw a woman approach William and take his arm familiarly, and, in Julia's assessment, somewhat possessively.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her jealous nature had asserted itself, and she grabbed Isaac once more and hissed at him to play along. Being the gentleman that he was, he silently complied, knowing that Julia must have seen something to have altered her earlier ebullient mood.

Julia thought quickly about how to approach the situation. _Why does he get all the adventures?_ She reminded herself if William was here, he was ordered to do so and it must be important because nothing else would keep him from one of his murder investigations. Julia looked again at William and the young woman, who was pulling her husband off onto the dance floor obviously talking with him about something. She ground her teeth. _And why are there always beautiful women attaching themselves to him?_ Julia tamped her jealousy down, knowing that William was a reluctant participant, but that did not mean she liked to see him in another woman's arms.

The next decision was easy. _Two can play_ that _game_.

Positioning herself and Isaac on the opposite side of the ballroom from where William and his companion waltzed, Julia studied the collection of four gentlemen William had been standing with: an older grey-haired man, one college-aged youth, two in perhaps their thirties or forties. She focused on the two middle aged men, then selected a tall, handsome man from that party who was paying much more attention to the ladies on the dance floor than his companions. "Isaac, I need you to trust me."

Isaac saw a determined glint in his friend's blue eyes, usually a prelude to something outrageous. "Will we get arrested this time?" he only half joked.

Julia gave him a brilliant smile. "Not if can help it. Do you see that group of gentlemen over there?" She waited until he nodded. "What I need you to do is dance me over to them and help me get the taller, dark haired man to dance with me."

…. "Oh, Édouard," Mabel pouted as they danced, "I detected nothing in any of their pockets, and no one was interested in talking to me about the investor meeting."

"I too discovered nothing. The drawings must have been sent back to the hotel. Shall I excuse myself and get them, then meet you at the train?" William had always believed that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. _Why not just break in, copy the plans and be done with it,_ was what he argued to Terrence Meyers rather fruitlessly. William even offered to leave a _fleur de lis_ somewhere to point fingers at France. Meyers had not been moved.

"Yes, Édouard, but I cannot get away before the dance ends at midnight, and we will miss our train. If I plead indisposition, he and his party will leave with me, and insist on watching over me again. Oh, I am trapped!" She turned a worried face upwards to her paramour for answers.

William did see the dilemma. He was very tempted to just leave her there and burglarize Mr. Meacham's rooms, take photographs and disappear. He tried not to look too unhappy. "_Oui, ma belle_. _Alors_, I came all this way to find you and liberate you from being trapped, and I will not fail you. But we must be careful not to be seen conspiring. Let me try and think of something."

….Isaac and Julia circled nearer her target. A quick assessment told her the tall, dark-haired man was watching that young woman in pale blue lace with interest. _He does not like William dancing with her any more than I do_. She maneuvered Isaac sideways a touch, to align with where she wanted to end up. "Just remember, Isaac, I am going to ask you to ask that man to gallantly complete this dance with me, as a favour to you. You will do that, won't you?"

Isaac followed her lead, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. "Just what are you planning, Julia?"

Isaac's pleasant expression never faltered, but his eyes were getting a tad rounder, she noticed.

"Sorry, Isaac…" Julia told him.

His face questioned. "Sorry for wh..._**Aughhh!**_ _**Ow...my god**_…!"

Julia ground her heel into Isaac's arch, causing him to stumble, pushing them out of the pattern of dancers to nearly collide with her target. "Oh, my goodness, Archie! Has that old war wound got the better of you again?" Julia said loudly in her best Aussie accent. "Archie, are you alright? And I so want to keep dancing." She pretended to just notice the bystanders. "So sorry, gentlemen, our apologies." Isaac glared at her. She hoped she hadn't broken anything in his foot.

Isaac collected himself. "Er, yes, our apologies, gentlemen. Archie...er..Roycroft, and this is my...er…"

"_Friend_. Sheila Walker," Julia explained, offering her hand to the man with whom she hoped to dance. "_Miss _Sheila Walker."

"...Miss Walker." Isaac gasped as he tried to put weight on his foot. "I don't suppose one of you will do this lady the honours, while I go put some ice on my foot...or call a doctor…" Isaac's mumbled comment was lost in the commotion of four men eager to offer Julia a dance.

A long, black-clad arm cut the other men off, taking Julia's hand with his. "Liam Payne, Miss Walker, and I would be delighted." He gave a polite bow over her hand and she had the presence of mind to giggle. Julia stepped eagerly onto the floor with him, timing it nearly perfectly to place them within a few feet of William and his partner.

"Thank you, Mr. Payne. This is the most fun I have had since I have been in Toronto. Tell me a little about yourself…" Julia listened with half an ear, judging distance and waiting for Mr. Payne to be rude enough to ogle the young woman in light blue currently dancing with William.

...William, for his part was also listening with half an ear to Mabel spin one impractical idea after another to get them out of the jam they were in. In truth, he had no good plan either, and was so focused on working something out he nearly got his foot tangled in Mabel's skirts; there was a lot of skirt. _I cannot think in all this chaos_, he chastised himself, _this is getting me nowhere_. He stuck a smile on his face. "Mabel, _ma belle_," he said, finally making a decision, "when this dance is done, I shall take my leave of you and…"

"May I cut in?" Liam Payne's voice was at William's elbow. For a split second he felt a rush of fear that Payne had overheard Mable and him talking, but Payne seemed only focused on Miss Finch, deftly placing his arm around Mabel and exchanging her for his own partner, who was...

_Good Lord, Julia?! _ "What are you doing here?" William nearly squeaked.

Julia could not help laughing at his outrage. She saw his mouth agape and he stopped moving so suddenly that another couple bumped into them while Liam Payne and Miss Finch swirled away. In a honey-sweet Australian-accented tone, she began. "My name is Sheila Walker, sir, and yours is…?"

When he got his wits back, William was angry, not at her as much as at the situation. He was not sure he kept the emotion from showing in his face. "Julia, I don't know what you think you are doing but please leave. I must leave the ballroom right now and I don't have enough time to explain other than I have to get Miss Finch on a train to Buffalo tonight."

"Miss Finch, is it? Who is that young woman supposed to be to whoever you are supposed to be?" When he hesitated she continued. "William, I can figure this out. Terrence Meyers has you doing something undercover again, yes?" He nodded. "Well then," she said brightly, "dance with me and tell me what you can, especially why that young woman cannot keep her hands off of you."

William balked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen - telling Julia he was supposed to be Miss Finch's fiancé and they were running away to get married was not a tale he wanted to tell. "I, er…" he stammered, "I am supposed to be one of Terrence Meyers' agents, impersonating a man named Édouard Laurent. I have to get information from Miss Finch then get her on that train and out of here. If all goes well, I promise I will be home tonight...or at least by morning." William moved Julia around the ballroom. Dancing with her was so different than with Mabel. Mabel was pliant, light, yielding. Julia was vibrant, substantial and challenging. He decided that dancing with Mabel was like dancing alone and that he much preferred his own wife in his arms. He relaxed his shoulders a bit, drew her closer. "Well, Miss Walker, I am sorry but I really must depart."

She placed her lips by his ear. "Well, '_Monsieur Laurent',_ you can depart after you answer my questions. Besides, don't you want to know about your case?"

"My case..? Oh, um, yes. What do you have?" William was fully alert.

"The bullet was .32 calibre, and we have time of death closer to Tuesday morning than Monday night." She smiled at the change in him, that faraway look in his eyes. "And no, as far as I know a matching bullet from the crime scene has not been found." She paused to get his full attention again. "By the way...I am only willing to wait up for you for so long, to help me get into my nightgown…"

William squeezed his eyes and groaned inwardly, the thought of helping Julia out of her dress was not what he needed at the moment, especially in this tight-fitting suit, since it might make embarrassingly obvious what he wanted. Then, the music stopped without warning and in the short moment of noise relief, a man yelled that there was smoke. Indeed, thick white smoke was collecting in the room, pressing outwards from where the orchestra had been sitting, driving those in attendance before it to escape the plume. In no time, people began to panic, rushing the exits. William caught Julia's eyes with his, hoping she understood; that she would be sensible and get out of the building safely...

Exhaling and rubbing his face, momentarily forgetting about his disguise, he regrettably pushed thoughts of his wife from his mind...and abandoned Julia to go in search of Mabel Finch...


	7. Chapter 7

_**CHAPTER SEVEN **_

"_**It is far easier for me to teach twenty what were right to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching."**_

Inspector Thomas C. Brackenreid was quietly enjoying the last of his scotch and the end of his smoke, in his very own comfortable wingback chair, in his very own parlour, in his very own house, with his very own wife awaiting him upstairs. His shoes and collar were off as he relaxed. For the first time in a long while he was feeling optimistic. In fact, this evening he was contemplating how good life was, how blessed he was that he had two good sons, a good job and a fine house. He smiled in satisfaction, dug his hips deeper into the chair cushion and put his cigar and drink aside, allowing his eyes to rest for a moment...The station house was running smoothly. Things with Margaret were a bit unsettled, but the old girl had come around and overall he did not see any real storm clouds on the marital horizon...he was even looking forward to a little slap and tickle with her once he got upstairs. All was right with the world. Nothing was darkening his door…

...Except for the annoying pounding that came from his porch. Brackenreid jerked awake. _Bloody Hell!_ he grumbled. _Who can it be at this hour? And why not just use the damnable telephone?_ He extricated himself from his chair and trundled over to the door.

"I'm coming! Keep your shirt on!" He barely got the door open when Julia Ogden swept boldly across the threshold. "Doctor? What is it?" he asked. Looking at her face he thought he might have a good guess. _Crikey, the shite's hit the fan now._

"Good evening, Tom, may we talk, privately?" Julia said quietly but firmly, not waiting to be escorted to the parlour. She removed her cape revealing her evening's ensemble as she proceeded into the room and waiting for him to catch up. Being the red-blooded male he was, of course he reacted to her daring gown, yet he was thankful that his own wife would never wear such an outfit out of the house.

Clearing his head of such thoughts, Brackenreid followed her, taking a moment to pull the pocket doors closed, giving himself another moment to think. Addressing him as 'Tom' meant that this was going to be personal. Nothing else good came to mind, so he fell back on habits. "Please have a seat, won't you? Would you like a night-cap, Doctor?" That was the usual pattern between them, and would give him more time to gauge the situation.

She remained standing. "No, thank you. It is late, so I will get to the point. There was no meeting at the Albany Club about our forensic manual. I saw William tonight. He was at the Earthquake Relief Charity ball. Dressed in a disguise. Dancing with a young woman. Telling me a story about needing to get her on a train tonight. I assume this is Terrence Meyers' doing." She laid it out plainly, then waited, studying Brackenreid's face to see how he reacted. She was quite surprised when he took his drink in hand and sprawled in a chair, then proceeded to chuckle.

"Ah, Doctor...Julia... please sit down, sit down. Let me tell you a little story.." He gestured to another seat. "Your powers of deduction are first rate. Murdoch once joked that if women were allowed to be commissioned by the constabulary that you'd be the first one we should hire…" He saw her waver, then sit as requested. He leaned forward to continue. "I am not at liberty to explain the parts which touch on state secrets, BUT I will confirm that your husband is supposed to do a job for Meyers tonight."

"I see. And without violating national security, what exactly is he doing with that woman?" Her jealousy started pressing in.

He thought about it, envisioning Murdoch's mission to woo young Miss Finch, especially since he'd witnessed most of the romance between Murdoch and his wife, first hand, over the years, and let out a chortle. "Funny thing about that, doctor. Terrence Myers, in his infinite wisdom, thinks that Murdoch can pull off being a Romeo to her Juliet, and he has to get the job done by midnight."

Julia absorbed the idea slowly, getting a slight tickle in her funny bone. "William? Pull off a romance in, what, under twelve hours?" It was hard to be jealous when it was all so ridiculous.

"Indeed, if you can credit it. No disrespect, doctor, but your husband does not possess the most alacrity in the romance department."

She started to titter. "He has to _what, _seduce her? To what end?"

"Ah, well, that is the part I am under orders not to reveal. I do know he was not pleased at all to be recruited, but Meyers came begging after his agent got himself, er...incapacitated. Murdoch gave Meyers a right old hard time about it. Had to be, unh... convinced. He was not sure he could pull off being a lothario-type...and, so can you imagine…?"

Julia was struck by the absurdity. "No, I imagine he was quite uncomfortable."

"Bloody Hell...you'd have thought someone asked him to drink soured milk!" he winked, getting a giggle from his companion. "He is not exactly the type to be forward with women, hell, you of all people understand that. Too,bloody stiff and formal, eh?"

William was less often the romantic instigator between them, even if he was always more than ready and willing. Regarding his Romeo assignment, however, Julia had a clear mental picture of a rigid, panic-eyed William, trying to wriggle away from Miss Finch like a cat from a bath. She struggled not to laugh out loud. "I know that better than anyone, I should think. But really, Tom, when I saw him it did not seem to be going very well. Perhaps he needs a hand?"

Brackenreid's amusement faltered. "Now, now Julia. Meyers promised your husband he'd be home tonight, so go home and wait for him there. This whole operation is complicated enough without any more loose cannons, or anyone making him more nervous, like you showing up in that dress," he gestured toward her dress with a smirk. "I guarantee that your husband hasn't forgotten the significance of it."

Julia smiled coquettishly as she stood up and smoothed out said dress. "As you say, Tom. Good evening and my respects to Mrs. Brackenreid."

After closing the door behind Julia, Brackenreid felt a certain disquiet. _That was too easy,_ he told himself.

* * *

"_**And thereby hangs a tale…"**_

"So, you admit there is no 'Plan B' after all, is there, Meyers?" William fumed. In the chaos of everyone pouring out of the Great Hall he located Mabel on the street just in time to have Liam Payne bustle her away towards the rest of their party. He made sure to bid them a polite good night, but unfortunately other than exchanging eye contact, he had no opportunity to speak with Mabel to formulate a new strategy. Moreover, William's misgivings had flooded back and he was feeling oddly guilty again about his play-acting romance. "Miss Finch is back at her hotel with Mr. Meacham and the other men, and the hydrofoil schematics are under guard. I have no way to get them tonight and neither does she. I cannot get her and I to the midnight train with the plans. Your operation is over."

"No, it is not. You are to remain in character as Monsieur Laurent. We will just need a little more time. Stay in your hotel room and wait for instructions. Do not call me again. And you are not to contact anyone, Murdoch. No one. I need your word on that." Meyers had a dismissive edge to his voice.

William struggled to keep his temper in check, on top of which he was not about to tell Meyers that Julia saw him at the Great Hall. He grit his teeth. "My word, Meyers. And now _yours_ that I will be out of this by the morning."

"Sure, Murdoch. As soon as you accomplish the mission you can go home."

Meyers hung up on him.

_Figures,_ William thought acidly. _Well, the only benefit now is that I don't have to see his face again until this is all over. _He did not think he'd be able to control himself if he did.

He placed the earpiece in its cradle. Still standing, he removed his tie, vest and braces, then worked his shirt tails loose before taking the cufflinks out and shrugging the stiff shirt off. The bed looked inviting, yet he knew his mind was not going to let him rest. Reluctantly, he finished disrobing and laid himself down to stare at the ceiling and wish Julia was next to him. Instead he was in a strange bed, trying to come up with a brilliant plan to get himself out of the mess Meyers put him in. However, he could only imagine being in his own bedroom and removing that red dress...one that had fueled a thousand fantasies over the years.

Sighing exhaustedly, he pushed aside any shame and sought himself, desperate to clear his mind by relieving his delicious torment.


	8. Chapter 8

_**CHAPTER EIGHT**_

"_**It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags…"**_

The morning was going by fast.

Julia had waited for William until she fell asleep in the living room in one of the rather uncomfortable chairs designed by Mr. Wright. She woke with a knot in her neck, wishing for the umpteenth time she had her green velvet settee again from the Windsor, gave up on William and went to bed for a restless night. She woke up again before dawn with an inspiration, and _voila_, after a concerted effort, she now had only to walk in and hope she was right. Julia surveyed the property… ramshackle barn, barnyard, frame house, pasture, storage shed. Nothing was stirring. She knew a working farm is never still or silent, and yet, there were fresh carriage tracks in and out and, oddly, a telephone line. Julia stepped out of her rented horse and trap, tied the horse to the stone pillar and iron ring, picked up her skirt and bag, and walked directly to a wooden door set in the simple one story house. _No need to be delicate about this_. She picked up a small hoe leaning against the doorframe and struck the door, twice. Hard.

After waiting for a full minute, she hit the door again. "I know you are in there. I am not going away."

Another minute later, much to her pleasure and relief, the door swung open. "I suppose you should come in," said a deep voice.

Julia walked in through a cloud of cigar smoke, sending a little thrill of vindication through her. _The Inspector is correct, I _would _make a good detective. _Inside the house it was dark, since the shutters were firmly in place. She stood by the door momentarily to get her bearings and let her eyes adjust.

"Mr. Meyers. I have a few questions," she said, to take control of the interview to come. Actually, she had a lot of questions, but pared them down to a choice few since first coming up with her plan. Terrence Meyers gestured to the kitchen table. He was not in his usual habiliments, which made sense if he was to pass unnoticed in the country. She sat opposite him, studying him the way she would a patient before a forensic interview.

"How did you find me?"

To Julia's ear he sounded offended under a superficially smooth tone. _Good._ Her heart warmed. "I have not spent so many years in the company of William Murdoch without learning a thing or two." She waved some smoke away from her nose. "I recognized the cigar you gave to Inspector Brackenreid." She was happy to notice Meyers flushed, before she went on. "The telephone is such a marvelous invention, don't you think? Where as in the past one had to travel from location to location to ask questions, now all one has to do is use that wonderful device. I have several acquaintances in the telephone office, and there are only so many tobacconists in the Toronto area. All I had to do was ask who carried your brand, and if they had a local address." She thought that was exceptionally sloppy of him; she also knew since he was not really capable of shame, she doubted he'd blush over his mistake. "Of course, the telephone company was also most forthcoming about the new telephone line way out here." She placed her hands primly on the table. "It added up."

Meyers face was bland again. "I see. Even so, Dr. Ogden, there is nothing I can do to answer any questions, so, you can feel free to take your self-congratulations and leave now." Meyers seemed to take it all as an amusement; she was even more sure it was to cover his bruised ego.

That made her feel better and better.

"You recruited William after your agent became incapacitated? Exactly how did your agent _become incapacitated_?" Julia paused to see if Meyers reacted. That was the part that took so long to sink in, it woke her up in dread: her husband was probably taking the place of a dead man, placing himself into danger. With that knowledge she had set out to find Meyers, no matter the cost. "He is _dead_, isn't he, your man?" Meyers was silent. She stared at him. "How did he die?" she asked plainly.

More silence from Meyers, then: "It was an accident. He tripped and fell. There is no danger to your husband, Dr. Ogden. Murdoch is safe as houses, as Inspector Brackenreid would say, doing his duty."

"If your agent died in Toronto, why was he not sent to the morgue for autopsy to confirm cause of death?" Julia did not expect an honest response. This _was _Terrence Meyers. She had the awful feeling his agent was going to be _used_ as much in death as in life. "Don't answer, Mr. Meyers. My guess is he is in the ice house behind this building. You are going to take me there to confirm cause of death. While we are there you can explain exactly what is going on, and why William has not come home yet."

* * *

"_**You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives and conned them out of rings?" **_

As they left the ice house, Meyers was uncharacteristically silent, chewing the end of an unlit cigar. He'd always thought it a mistake men made to underestimate women, and here he had done it himself. _Of course, it made sense that if Murdoch was formidable, his wife would be as well,_ he mused as he admired the sway of her backside, when he realized too late that she was speaking.

"... as it seems as though your little scheme has not gone according to plan after all. Your man dying from a fall is no more likely than me voting for the next Prime Minister of Canada. Additionally, Agent Hale does not look very much like William, in my opinion. As it is now, William must be warned, since someone is likely to know he is an imposter." Julia tried to temper her alarm, but it was not working. She turned abruptly around and caught Meyers' downward glance with a distracted smile on his face. _No doubt staring at my ass,_ she thought without amusement.

Meyers was uncomfortable. He'd relied on an eye-witness to determine Agent Hale's tripping and subsequent fall were accidental. "Witnesses said they saw him trip. Getting the body off the street swiftly, leaving the impression he'd merely had a drunken fall and gotten himself knocked out and was going to see a doctor, was the greater imperative," he defended. "There were no obvious wounds on the body and no known immediate threat to Agent Hale. There is a very good chance that Agent Hale's… murder... is related to a wholly different operation, especially since he had not yet been living as Édouard Laurent."

"So, you were fooled into accepting it was an inconvenient accident." Julia shot back.

"I have a man shadowing Murdoch, he'll be safe."

Julia was indignant. "He is _not_ safe. You know that now there is a greater risk to William, especially considering your earlier impersonation scheme with William as a French diplomat.

"This is not that kind of operation." Meyers tried placating her. "We have no intelligence anything has been compromised."

"William must be warned!" Julia repeated, unbelieving how obtuse the spy was.

"Your husband can take care of himself. Thank you for your assistance, Doctor." He tried disengaging from her at the front door of the house. "I will make sure my men are aware of your concerns."

"That is not good enough, Mr. Meyers. If you won't warn William, then I will!" Julia saw him struggle to come up with an answer for that, instead he checked his watch to temporize. She cursed him for a coward, then realized he was just biding his time when she saw Thomas Brackenreid pull up in a single horse buggy. "You _called_ him?" she complained hotly, eyes blazing holes in Meyers' skull.

"Hullo, doctor." Brackenreid tipped his wool cap in her direction. The Inspector was dressed in country tweeds and looked unhappy.

Hands on her hips she stood as upright as she could. "Oh, so it takes two big strong men to bully one woman? I see you had to call for reinforcements, did you do this before answering the door?" her determined voice snapped both men's heads back.

"Doctor, Inspector, please come in." Meyers pushed the door open and waited. Brackenreid entered first, head down somewhat sheepishly. Julia stood on the porch contemplating murder for a while, before relenting. Once they were all seated, Meyers held forth.

"I asked Inspector Brackenreid to come here to help convince you everything is well in hand. This operation is critical for national security, and I am not at liberty to say anymore." Julia just glared at him.

Brackenreid spoke up. "I am sorry I lied to you about it, but I was sworn to secrecy, as was your husband. Look, Murdoch is a big boy and I can attest that he is prepared and well-armed. Have some faith in him." _One thing both Murdoch and his wife shared in common: once they got an idea in their heads they don't let go, _Brackenreid thought inwardly.

"That's not the point, I **do** have faith in him," she spat back, feeling her cheeks flare.

"Then put that faith to work," the spy advised. "There was a small deviation in the plan, that's all. The only thing that has changed is the timeline and location." Pulling out a cigar, Meyers said, "I do not need you or anyone else interfering."

"Mr. Meyers, someone has _already_ interfered. Rather substantially!" Julia detested his patronizing tone. "Inspector," she nailed Brackenreid with steely blue eyes. "Agent Hale was _murdered_, which means that at least one person knows William is an imposter!" She caught the surprise on Tom's face and the dart of anger and worry he sent Meyers. "I do know William can take care of himself, but I do not think Terrence Meyers cares about his welfare as much as I do."

"Er..yes, Dr. Ogden discovered that Agent Hale did not die by accident, " Meyers answered Brackenreid's question before it was asked. "There is no reason to believe his death was at all related to this particular Romeo operation. The target may have been Agent Hale, but that does not mean Édouard Laurent is in any danger. In fact, Dr. Ogden has declared that Agent Hale and her husband do not look anything alike, so that is just one more reason to assume the events are not connected." Meyers saw Julia's jaw drop in frustration at having her assessment used against her argument. "Inspector, please convince Dr. Ogden that in a situation as delicate as this one, making Murdoch any more nervous, adding a new unstable element to the equation, is what is likely to spoil the results."

_Or get Murdoch killed, _the Inspector said to himself.

Brackenreid rapidly calculated the situation. Terrence Meyers and Julia Ogden were squared off in the small kitchen. Both wanted him to break the stalemate. One of them he had great affection for, had walked her down the aisle to get married, trusted her with his life. The other, a completely untrustworthy man could have him detained indefinitely at the King's pleasure...or hanged.

It really wasn't a contest.

"Doctor, I really think, just this once, that you need to let your husband do his job. Come back to Toronto with me and give Murdoch some breathing room. Besides, I believe Meyers will lock the both of us up for the duration if we do not play along."

"There, you see? Inspector Brackenreid just volunteered to be responsible for your behavior," Meyers chuckled. Julia and Brackenreid gave each other startled looks.

"_He did…?_"

"Wait, _what?_ I did…?"

"Just so. In any event, it is too late. Murdoch is halfway to New York as we speak. Your husband will be on the return train tomorrow night or the next day at the latest." Meyers relaxed, believing that was going to be the end of it. He'd put Julia Odgen back in her conveyance and on towards Toronto with an admonishment about secrecy and treason, make the Inspector keep her in line, then call it a day.

Meyers was rather pleased with himself.


	9. Chapter 9

_**CHAPTER NINE **_

"_**O, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely..."**_

Anticipating New York City's Grand Central Station held no charm for William this time around, unlike when he and Julia went through on their honeymoon. The Second Empire building was to be demolished in phases to make way for a new, larger, completely electrified Central Terminal, and even pondering about that was not capturing his attention enough while he was jostling back and forth in his seat with nothing to read and everything to think about.

He and Mabel had had only scant seconds last night to talk before parting from the ball. She told him she'd inveigle a way to stay close to Meacham who was leaving Toronto for New York the next morning, and that he'd have to find a way to follow. After waiting all night for Meyers to tell him what to do, early this morning William told himself: "I need to take matters into my own hands," unaware of his Freudian slip.

William guessed correctly that Mr. Meacham would be the kind of man who opted for an early breakfast while the rest of his party slept in, so at 6 o'clock sharp, dressed carefully as Édouard Laurent, William insinuated himself into Mr. Meacham's company over tea in the Queen's Hotel's restaurant, politely inquiring after Meacham and Mabel's welfare considering the chaos at the charity ball. William Meacham might have been a tad suspicious of Édouard Laurent's interest in his goddaughter, but Meacham had no compunction about telling William that Mabel was untroubled by the excitement and was now invited on to New York to pick out her trousseau for her upcoming wedding. "_I find it difficult to say no to the girl,"_ Meacham had confessed.

Without thinking of the logistics, William explained that he himself was sailing out of New York to Paris in three days, asking Meacham to express his regards to Miss Finch and hoping that there would be another opportunity to socialize whilst in New York.

_The lies came easily_, he thought. _Perhaps they sound more sincere or persuasive with a French accent?_ William asked himself cynically.

He hoped if Meacham saw Laurent as someone polite enough to present himself publicly and someone merely passing through, he'd be judged as harmless. It must have worked, because by the time Meacham's eggs Benedict arrived, Édouard Laurent had been invited to call on them in New York if he had the chance.

William had immediately telephoned Meyers, explaining the situation while packing. "_It was the best I could do. I had to...improvise, especially since you were not coming up with any alternative. They leave at nine." _

Meyers was not pleased. "_Moving this operation off Canadian soil will be trickier. Do you think you can handle it?"_

"_Yes. The sooner the better, Meyers. If I can get into the luggage compartment to photograph the plans I will do so. If not, I will get to them in New York. Mabel Finch is staying at a hotel, chaperoned by Mr. Payne and Mr. Greenwaldt, but Mr. Meacham is staying at some place called the "Lotus Club" without his entourage. That might make it simpler."_

After hanging up with Meyers, William exchanged his train ticket for the coach seat he was now occupying for a long ride to New York City. He contemplated his situation, looking out the train window at the beautiful green and grey Niagara escarpment, patting the little camera in his jacket pocket. Stuck on the train, the enormity of his task was really sinking in. Especially since it occurred to him, rather belatedly, that while in Canada and working at the behest of His Majesty's government, what he'd been doing was at least superficially legal and sanctioned.

He suddenly felt alone and exposed. In New York he was a foreign agent stealing _American_ secrets from an _American_ on _American _soil.

_I wonder if I could be shot for this. _


	10. Chapter 10

_**CHAPTER TEN **_

"_**Motley's the only wear."**_

Julia sat closely with Tom Brackenreid on the way back to Toronto, Terence Meyers having commandeered her rented horse and carriage, forcing her and Tom to share his ride. Julia knew that was to make sure she went home and stayed there. Along the way Tom made several efforts to cajole her into going along with Meyers' request, to, as Tom put it, "butt out," but she refused to speak with him, until eventually he stopped his monologue and just managed the reins. It took her most of the trip to think things through and calm down.

Coming into the city, she unbent enough to thank him. "Tom, I do appreciate that you got Meyers to at least warn William, well...warn the man who is shadowing William. You were quite forceful in the matter and I appreciate your support."

"You are welcome, Julia. Meyers can be a bloody bast...I mean."

"No, you are right, he _is_ a bastard. I just hope he knows what he is doing."

"I am not going to let him get my best man killed, any more than you are. Meyers is not stupid; it is in his best interests to protect Murdoch, and I was not leaving there either until I heard him send that telegram telling his agent someone may be on to the impersonation. Speaking of cover-ups, we must tell no one what we were actually up to this morning. How about I say you and I were checking out property for your new body farm?"

That got a laugh out of Julia. Of all she was working out in her head, it never occurred to her she'd have to explain why she took a sudden trip into the country. "Of course. Brilliant!" she smiled.

"Good. Now let me get you home, or do you have patients at the hospital?" he offered her the choice.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stop at my favourite dress shop. You know, a little distraction, something to make up for William's absence?"

Brackenreid studied her face then gave a belly laugh, the horse skittering a titch with the unexpected sound. "A little shopping at your husband's expense?" Margaret was famous for what he thought of as 'retail revenge.' _Christ_, maybe there was more in common with his and Murdoch's marriage than he knew. "Just promise me this is the end of it, no more kiting off."

She nodded. "I'd like you to drop me at Oscar DuCharme's establishment."

_Poor bastard,_ Brackenreid winced, thinking of Murdoch's wallet. He'd heard of Mr. DuCharme's high end boutique and shuddered at the idea that Margaret would ever see the inside of it. It was bad enough Ruth Newsome introduced her to crystal glassware. "As you wish, " he said, "just remember, it is not all Murdoch's fault. And no kiting off."

"I promise, Tom. No kiting." She disembarked the carriage outside Oscar's door without assistance, waving a pleasant good-bye to Tom as he drove off.

Julia pushed in the door, her plan ready. _No, Tom, there will be no __kites_ _involved, _she sent mentally to the Yorkshireman. _No kites at all._

She was greeted immediately by the proprietor. "Oh my dear, are you here to gossip about last night?"

"Yes, and I have my appetite for shopping back. Oscar, in addition to a few new fun and stylish pieces, practicality be damned, I also need a dress that will shock and awe. A dress that the wife of a police detective would not normally wear," she requested with a giggle as she sipped the champagne she was offered. "I need a dress that will make a statement."

Mulling it over for a moment, he stroked his chin before he smiled mischievously, dark eyes dancing. "Just how scandalous do you want to be, Julia? Toronto outrageous, or Paris notorious?" he asked with a wide grin.

"I must admit to being most curious about Paris notorious," she replied, excited at what he might have.

"There's a young designer in Paris by the name of Jeanne Margaine-Lacroix who's pioneering a new style she calls the _robe-sylphide sans corset_," he gushed as he stepped into his stockroom.

"A dress without a corset?" she clarified, eyebrows raised as he stepped back into the shop carrying a box.

"Indeed. She's a proponent for the natural form of a woman's body and designs her dresses to be worn with minimal undergarments...or none at all if you dare! I should think you would approve of her work," he extolled as he opened the box and tissue paper to reveal a silky knit garment in alternating variations of gray and pale ice blue made from a soft, stretchy fabric. It fairly spilled like water out of the box into her hands so unstructured and soft was the fabric.

"Well, that's certainly going to make a statement," she gasped. "Whatever is it made of?" She asked as she lifted the dress, noting that it was also incredibly light, and not the usual heft of a traditional evening gown.

"It's a knit silk jersey, so it will perfectly fit the body with just a bit of whalebone to support your natural shape. As the name suggests, no corset need be worn - the dress is meant to celebrate one's natural shape. I suppose you could say that it is rational dress for evening wear," he added. "Julia, if you are brave enough to wear a dress like the one you wore last night, then you must take the next challenge and free the women of Toronto and New York from all those dreadful flounces and frills. Let your bold spirit inspire others!" he opined.

"Then you must help me try it on," Julia replied, rising to the challenge.

* * *

"_**...Of if thou hast not broke from company**_

_**Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,**_

_**Thou has not loved…" **_

Julia made it to the train with plenty of time to spare, having booked the last available compartment for the journey under the name Sheila Walker. She'd discreetly cleared her calendar with believable excuses, quite satisfied with the fact that having four occupations gave her a round-robin of reasons for her to be otherwise unavailable. No one was the wiser, all were very accommodating to her "other legitimate demands," as Dr. Forbes, her superior at the hospital, assured her. The trunk with her new frocks sat beside her, along with two striped hat boxes and her hand case. The hit to her bank account as a consequence of her splurge, she decided eventually, was not something she was ever going to share with her husband. They split their mutual expenses fifty-fifty, out of fairness, _and_, she thought, _mostly to preserve William's pride. _It had always been agreed between them that she purchased her own clothing, but even she thought the expense outrageous. _So, _she reasoned, _what he did not know would not appall his thrifty sensibilities. _

She was hungry, having had no luncheon and the glass of champagne at Oscar's having gone a little to her head. The porter had been kind enough to offer her a sandwich and tea from the dining car (after all, what was first class for?) so all she had to do was wait for the service. A generous tip was going to get her the meal as soon as they left Toronto.

As the train shuddered out of the station, picking up speed, she sunk into the cushion and removed her hat, placing it in the top hatbox, then smoothed her light blue traveling outfit, chosen for comfort on such a long ride. The knock for her food order came quickly. She rose to open the door, expecting the porter and tray.

A tray with teapot and sandwiches did proceed into the room-delivered by a long, black-sleeved arm. The rest was unexpected.

"Terrence Meyers!" she gasped.

"Miss Walker, I presume?" Meyers closed the door, placing the tray on a pull-out table. "Doesn't anyone in your family ever do what they are told?" When Julia tried to protest, he stopped her. "Don't even try. I had you followed, but it took too long for my man to get in place. By the time I was notified, you were already on the train." He poured a tea for each of them, while Julia simmered beside him. He handed one to her, then offered to splash a little brandy in. She refused, so he adulterated his own.

"I had a devil of a time getting here before the train left the station. I guess you are stuck with me now." Meyers sipped his tea, then selected a sandwich and chomped down. "Delicious."

Julia was hardly ever unable to come up with words, however at the moment the only ones she had on her tongue were decidedly unladylike. Self-satisfied bastard that he was, Meyers seemed to be waiting for her to burst out in a tirade. She was not going to give him the satisfaction.

"Mr. Meyers, you want this operation of yours to succeed, and to do that you need William, _alive_, do you not?" she asked mildly.

Setting his food aside, Meyers struck a match to his cigar and inhaled to light it. After achieving a smoke ring, he nodded. "Indeed, doctor."

"Mr. Meyers, I want my husband home in one piece. Therefore it seems that we both want similar things, so perhaps we assist one another? You've enlisted my help before, so why don't we cut to the chase and tell me what's really going on so that you're successful and I can get my husband back, where he belongs?"

The spy mission aside, she was not all that happy about the idea of a young woman being encouraged to fall in love with William, even if she had complete trust in _his_ marriage vows. Her husband, Julia of all women knew, was an extremely attractive man, desirable to practically anyone of any persuasion, with William being, charmingly, totally unaware of the fact. A little bit of fun at the idea of William's discomfort with the whole business did not mitigate the danger, or all of her jealousy.

But an undesired flashback to Eva Pearce and her desire for William compelled her to act lest it progress that far once again.

_That_... and an overwhelming need to finish what she and William had started several days ago as she thought to Miss Ladywood's book tucked away in her valise. However, now was not the time as she forced her mind back to more pressing matters.

Meyers blew another ring. Julia saw the internal struggle play across his face for a few moments before he laughed. "All right, Doctor Ogden. You win, " he conceded. "I will not get you summarily put off this train at the next stop. I'll explain all of it to you on our way to New York. In fact Doctor, I believe it advantageous for us to travel as a couple. I will use one of my disguises, and I do believe it is appropriate for you to continue as Miss Sheila Walker once again," he added with a wink, stretching his long legs out in the compartment, claiming the space.

_Perhaps it is unnecessary to go as a couple, but the opportunity to tweak Murdoch while ensuring the success of the operation is too good to pass up._ He gave Julia a huge grin.

Once the two of them achieved a certain _detente_, Julia found Terrence Meyers to be an invigorating conversationalist the more relaxed he became, sharing experiences about travelling on the Continent, winding up comparing chemicals used to anesthetize a human. _On a certain level he was quite amusing,_ she thought, not forgetting the underlying odiousness of his general character. They even spared about politics and whether or not women should have the right to vote.

"I must admit that I've given little thought to the matter, but I must say that if your intelligence and perseverance are any indicator at all, then I am for it," he laughed after her speech.

"Really, Mr. Meyers?" Julia looked at him incredulously.

Deciding to get into her good graces for the remainder of the operation, he laughed. "Really. In fact, come election time you shall have my vote. Inform me of your choices and I will do your bidding," he drawled as he poured another tipple of brandy in his tea.

Sensing that the offer was meant as an end to their differences, Julia smiled and pushed her own cup towards him for a bit of brandy.

"Well, Mr. Meyers, rest assured I will take you up on that offer.


	11. Chapter 11

_**CHAPTER ELEVEN **_

"_**Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things…"**_

Getting into Grand Central station mid-morning the following day, she agreed to go ahead with the luggage while Meyers checked in at the British Embassy, incognito. The plan was to meet him later that evening once he learned where William and Mabel were going to be, and the address of the Lotus club, whatever that was, Julia assumed it was a private men's club. Arriving at the hotel, however, Julia was dismayed to learn that that Meyers had not booked a separate room for himself, but expected to occupy the single suite she had reserved for herself. The two of them- with only one bed. Sharing a single train compartment with separate beds had been one thing - the lack of privacy onboard had ensured Meyers behaved himself, but a shared suite was another. Finding a spare blanket and pillow, she left them on the couch, not caring if it was big enough for his needs or not. A truce was one thing, but sharing a bed with the man was another.

A short while later, Meyers returned and if he noticed the silent clue about where he was to sleep, he said nothing.

Grabbing a sandwich off the tray she had ordered, he shared the results of his intelligence gathering. "It seems that the Lotos Club is not named after the flower, but after a Tennyson poem called 'The Lotos-Eaters,' and it is a private club for primarily writers and artists, but politicians, scientists and inventors are also members. Mr. Meacham is a member and will be staying there. A party will be held there tonight in his honor; even better, he will be there alone without his entourage. We need to find a way to attend. I'm trying to reach my contacts to see if they can get us in," he added, finishing his sandwich and taking another. "This is an unfortunate development. I can only hope it will not derail our plans." He stopped chewing, thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I suppose I could get the building rigged with a bomb or something, and everyone evacuated…."

Julia's eyes lit up. "Well, Mr. Meyers. It seems fortuitous that you brought me along. I know someone who can get us in, provided she's still in the city," Julia smiled as she took a bite of her own sandwich. She patted her lips with her napkin, stood up and picked up the phone, requesting a call be placed to an exchange unknown to Meyers.

Fortunately, Ruby was in town and quite surprised and pleased to hear from her sister.

"Ruby, time is of the essence, and I am not in a position to answer questions right now, but there is a soirée tonight at the Lotos Club and I need to know if you can get myself and someone else added to the list," Julia asked, hoping her sister's curiosity was piqued.

"Oh, how mysterious! Out of nowhere you show up, asking me to do you a favour? The Lotos Club? Only men are members of the Lotos Club, which excludes female writers such as myself."

Julia could tell her sister was just playing hard to get. "I don't imagine something as antiquated as a male-only institution can withstand a woman such as yourself. I assumed you have already finagled your way in at least once before. Did you go in disguise? Or just brazen your way straight through the front door?" Ruby's peal of mirth made Julia pull the earpiece back a bit.

Ruby got herself under control, yet there was humour in her voice. "None of the above. You know that you must tell me all later, Jules, but yes, I do believe that I can get an..._acquaintance _of mine, who is a member, to sponsor all of us. He's been quite keen to see me again so I do believe that he'll do it," she giggled. "He needs a night out occasionally."

"Oh, Ruby. I knew I could count on you to have the proper connections."

Ruby giggled louder. "Well...this is the first time you have ever indicated you think any of my _connections_ are all that proper, Jules."

"There is a first time for everything," Julia chuckled wryly. "Listen, Ruby, please don't ask why, but I am travelling as Miss Sheila Walker and my companion is not William, he is a friend from er…" She had a moment of panic. How does one explain Terrence Meyers? "A colleague, yes a colleague of William's... and he is travelling with me as...er.." Julia thought quickly, coming up with a wicked idea. " As Henry Lawson. Both of us are saying we hail from Sydney, Australia."

On the other end of the phone, Ruby snickered in shock. "Jules, does he really want to be known as that reprobate? As talented as Lawson is…" she paused when Julia did not protest or react. "Ah, now I see...you must not like your companion very much to saddle him with that identity."

Julia glanced at the smug spy, Terrence Meyers, sprawled in an overstuffed armchair, and covered the earpiece better so he could not eavesdrop. "Precisely, Ruby. Lawson's work is well respected, is it not?"

"Well, yes it is. All right, I'll contact _my_ colleague, but Jules, you will tell me what's going on soon, won't you?" she asked.

"As much as I can. It's a matter of national security, that is all I can say," Julia added.

"Well, that sounds most nefarious, and as your sister, you know that I am bound to be intrigued." Ruby laughed again, definitely enjoying the potential for adventure. "I have been terribly bored in New York of late, so know that I am going to be a willing participant with you," she said, before ringing off the call to try to make the necessary arrangements.

"Mr. Meyers, my sister believes she can gain us admittance this evening," Julia pointedly told the spy, hoping he'd realize that she'd be more useful than he realized.

"Excellent work, Miss Walker," he drawled with an admiring smile. "I am to be a Mr. Lawson?"

"Yes. I had to...improvise. Yes, you will be introduced as Mr. Henry Archibald Hertzberg Lawson, an Australian poet and writer. You are the right age thereabouts and tall like he is, so that should do. It is unlikely these Americans ever met him, and Americans are notoriously unable to appreciate the differing accents across the British Empire, so just approximate the accent if you can. But he is prominent enough to have his work read in the states, even if not widely. You don't have to say much that is pithy, Mr. Meyer, Mr. Lawson is well-known to get in his cups. If you do not have a mustache to add to your face, you can always tell them you shaved it off. That will be a good enough cover for you, don't you think?"

"I suppose…" Meyers was clearly suspicious of Julia. "I suppose I can manage the accent…"

"Just listen, drink and grunt. You can do that, can't you?" Julia was having great fun turning the tables on the pompous spy. It felt much better to be calling the shots. She looked around the room, deciding to take charge there as well. "Since this will be a long night, I am going to retire to the bedroom. Please suit yourself until we hear back from Ruby."

Closing the doors to the room, her shoulders sagged and her worry blossomed again. Here she was in New York, having no idea where William was other than he'd been another twelve hours in the company of little Miss Finch.

_Young, naïve miss or not, she best keep her hands off my man!_

Exhausted, she fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

"_**...By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you."**_

Later that afternoon, she was awoken by a message from the front desk that Ruby and her friend had secured their entre to the Lotos Club, and would be picking them up at 8 pm. Gathering her resolve, she walked to the bathroom and began her _toilette_ in preparation for the long evening. As she worked, she started thinking about William, his arms around her, his weight upon her, his lips at her neck, and she trailed her hand down her abdomen and stopped at the juncture of her thighs in an effort to alleviate her need.

_Too bad Meyers is in the next room... Come hell or high water, I'm making love with my husband tonight._

Later, after one of the hotel's lady's maids helped her prepare for the party had left, she took in the total effect of her evening's look. Her hair swept back over her ears, she wore it in a low chignon at the nape of her neck. Her eyes lined in kohl pencil, an artful touch of rouge and lips painted pink, she wore only a small pendant William had given her (save for her wedding rings which would be hidden beneath her gloves) lest it distract from the impact of the dress, and nothing in her hair. Taking in her entire appearance, she swallowed her misgivings. As designed, the dress highlighted her natural form, leaving little to the imagination.

_No hiding behind a corset here!_

The silky fabric was cut on the bias, and draped over her curves and fitted, yet not exactly skin-tight. It would be obvious to anyone looking at her that she wore no traditional undergarments under the gown; a thought now weighing heavily upon her. When she had tried it on at Oscar's shop, she'd only thought of William as she considered it, imagining him being unable to keep his hands off of her, and sparking his jealousy as she drew the gaze of other men. But now she fully realized that the dress would achieve those things while she was in the arms of another man. She swallowed the remainder of her champagne and poured another glass as she turned in front of the mirror to view the back of her gown with its undulating swoops of silk.

"Whatever would father or even Ruby for that matter say now?" she giggled to herself as she finished the second glass, deciding against another lest it dulled her senses.

She had a moment of mental one-upmanship with her sister-_Even Ruby will not be so daringly dressed, I wager. Best use this dress as the weapon I intended_. It undoubtedly would distract William, but hopefully it would give him an opening to get the plans and for this charade to end. _In for a penny, in for a pound._

Opening the doors to the bedroom and walking into the parlor she stood in the doorway, waiting for Meyers to notice. At first, the man was busy with his tie when he saw her appearance from the corner of his eye.

Julia noted that even the trained spy could not hide his surprise. His mouth agape, his newly applied mustache quivering, he stood silently, staring at her for several moments before he recovered.

"My God, Miss Walker. That is most certainly a dress unlike any other. You look like one of the courtesans of Paris," he leered, patting his mustache then ruffling his untidy hair with a huge exhale.

"Mr. Meyers, that is exactly my intent," she smiled as she gathered her gloves and reticule. A long, light cape finished the ensemble.

True to Ruby's word, a call from the front desk informed them that their guests were here to pick them up. Settling into the carriage, Ruby began introductions, carefully using the pseudonyms of Miss Sheila Walker and Mr. Henry Lawson. Julia was sure that she may have heard Meyers squeak when he learned that Ruby's their sponsor was none other than William Randolph Hearst, publisher and a House Delegate to the United States Congress, representing New York's 11th district.

_Of course Ruby would know a famous, powerful, __married_ _man…_

Meyers needed a sharp elbow from her in his ribs to remind him to shut his gaping jaw and grunt.

_Political intrigue, indeed, _Julia thought to herself as she glanced at Ruby's sly smile. _I did tell her to get us entrance...perhaps I should have been more specific that it not involve an American official._


	12. Chapter 12

_**CHAPTER TWELVE**_

"_**The worst fault you have is to be in love."**_

Evening traffic being what it was in New York, it was a quarter until nine when they arrived at the corner of 556-558 5th Avenue and 46th Street, quite "uptown" according to Ruby.

Walking into the entry, attendants quickly swept in to take their wraps. For the first time, Ruby took in Julia's appearance, her eyes quite wide, appraising her sister from hair to shoes, focusing on the dress. "Oh, my goodness. _Maison de Margaine-Lacroix?" _She sounded astonished. "I must say, dear Sister, you look divine!"

"You mean I am attired more provocatively than you are this evening?" Julia teased her discommoded sister under her breath. Leave it to Ruby to be abreast of the latest _au courant _Parisian fashions and to know the designer whose creation she wore. Ruby was no slouch tonight in a fetching gown of apricot silk with a deep _décolletage_, dropped shoulder and apricot lace overskirt: quite _à la mode, _but so last century. Hardly revolutionary. Next to Julia's flamboyance and ease of physical movement, Ruby looked veritably pinched.

Ruby pouted prettily, her jealous eyes flashing. "I didn't think that would ever happen, but I am quite happy to see it with my own eyes as I would have never believed it otherwise," Ruby mustered an approving whisper as they excused themselves to the powder room before making their way upstairs to the grand salon. "How ever did you acquire a gown of such taste and quality on this side of the pond? My usually dowdy sister has managed to pull off a stylish coup." Disbelief lingered in Ruby's tone.

Julia gave a withering glance to her sister, who was unmoved.

"Is all well with William?" Ruby asked, gesturing towards Terrence Meyers who was waiting out in the hall.

Julia made sure she and Ruby had some privacy before speaking in an urgent whisper. "It is indeed, Ruby. I cannot divulge much, but we will see William tonight. However, he is not here as himself, he's here in the guise of a man named Édouard Laurent, a Frenchman. I will introduce you, but be sure to pretend that you don't know him,"Julia added as she touched up her lip rouge. She promised Meyers that while she would have to tell Ruby a few details, her sister would be discreet in the promise of a grand adventure.

"Yes, national security as you have said. I promise that I will keep my questions to a minimum but you must tell me what you can," Ruby added.

"I promise, Ruby. When this is over. For now, just play along."

Together, they rejoined Mr. Hearst and Terrence Meyers and walked upstairs, Julia pausing before the doors as the attendants opened them, ushering them into the second floor, which tonight was configured for a banquet. The Lotos Club was housed in elegant side-by-side brownstones making for large, graciously proportioned rooms which Julia openly admired as she entered the salon. Unlike the charity ball in Toronto, this was no grand fête, but a smaller soirée of perhaps 80. Being that the intimate number prevented the benefit of anonymity, she knew even greater discretion was necessary.

A detail her choice of outfit made less easy as she walked into the room and all eyes immediately fell upon her. "Revel in the attention, Jules," Ruby whispered as she grabbed a glass of champagne.

"_**Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?"**_

William was just excusing himself from conversation with Mr. Meacham when the atmosphere in the Lotos Club's upper room altered. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Before he even turned to verify the fact, he knew _she_ was there. So ardently he had missed his lover these past few days, he could sense her presence.

However, he was not prepared for the vision that greeted him. The curve of her breasts to the taper of her waist to the flare of her hips were impossible to miss, emphasized by the way the silk shimmered in the light.

Much like her grand, scene-stealing entrance all those years ago at the New Year's Eve Policeman's Ball in a scarlet dress, she managed to do so again, but this time in a gown that could only ignite lustful imagination. Rather than a corseted figure like all the other ladies presented, it was clear that Julia wore nothing under the gray and ice blue dress snugly wrapped around her body, and now every man in the room could use his imagination about what she would look like naked.

Just like the other men in the room, his eyes followed her mesmerizing figure, allowing him a glimpse of her backside as she glided across the room, head held high, the train of her dress flowing behind her. Though she smiled faintly as she passed him, he detected the worry in her eyes and his resolve to end this charade tonight grew even stronger along with his desire to help Julia out of the gown later.

William took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Generally, he tried hard not to be jealous around Julia when other men paid her excessive or lascivious attention, lest his possessiveness frighten her, but he couldn't help the flair of covetousness that accompanied the realization that she was here with Terrence Meyers, so minor was his disguise. He saw a rough-around-the-edges-version of the spy, fake mustache and tousled black hair, in an indifferent evening suit. It seemed that Julia and Meyers were masquerading as a couple from Australia, as he overheard introductions.

William also did not fail to see the detail that Meyers' hand was low on her hip...dangerously close to her derrière. William's right fist clenched around the stem of the wine glass he was holding. The liberty Meyers was taking with his wife infuriated him, so he impulsively accepted a drink of liquor with his other hand, to grab a moment to rein in his emotions, oblivious to the fine single malt as it went down in a fiery gulp. Now more than ever, he was determined to get to those plans, photograph them, and get his wife away from Meyers and any other man who had amorous designs on entertaining her later in the evening.

That was his right alone as her husband and he had every intention of defending that privilege.

As if the evening hadn't quite promised to be quite tumultuous enough, he noticed who had walked into the salon right behind Julia and Meyers - Ruby! Now he not only had to deal with one stubborn Ogden, but the younger, more mischievous one as well.

As most of the buzz of the attendees was now centered around Julia and her dress, he moved to check on Mabel, who had asked him to get her a glass of champagne. Rushing to attend to her lest she become angry or jealous at the attention Julia was garnering, William asked if he might guide her to a small velvet seat to talk.

"Oh, Édouard, you are most gallant to pay attention to a little mouse like me when there is a bird of such fine feather in here," she cooed, sending a calculating glance towards the newcomers, Julia in particular. Miss Finch's gay face hardened.

William was feeling ill at ease with how foolish the woman was, and he still felt sorry for Miss Finch and for his part in the deception. Assessing Mabel's mood, William decided more deception was the better part of valor. "Alas, she is striking but she cannot compare with your youth, your purity, Miss Finch, _Mon petit oiseau,_" he lied, the falsehood sitting awkwardly on his tongue. Truth be told, he would much rather be with the rare exotic bird...one who wore a small gold lemniscate infinity symbol, he couldn't help but notice…

Settling down next to Mabel with her glass of champagne, William saw Ruby wink at him from across the room as she made her way to the maÎtre d', whispering something in his ear while slipping a neatly folded bill in his hand. Nodding, the man smiled and hurriedly departed to the dining room.

_What on earth is Ruby planning now?_


	13. Chapter 13

_**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**_

"_**Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little…"**_

A short while later at dinner, William realized what Ruby had done. Sitting on her right while he sat on the end of the table, she turned to him as his lone dinner conversationalist.

"Miss Ogden...I don't know what you're up to, but I swear…"

"Oh come now, _Monsieur Laurent_... We both know you don't swear...ever. Relax, I'm here as I was the one who got your wife and her _**friend**_ in here," she answered with a twisted smile as she sipped her Manhattan cocktail. "I assure you, my sister is most anxious to have you back, and while I admit to having been trouble in the past, my intentions here are honorable. Besides, I can't have her staying here indefinitely, superseding my reputation as the scandalous Ogden sister - I'm simply afraid I cannot compete with her risqué wardrobe - at least this time. However, she certainly has inspired me to pay closer attention to obtaining French fashions…" she trailed off, taking another sip. "I may not know the entire story, but I know it must be important if my sister unexpectedly shows up here in New York in the company of another man when she adores you...and wearing a dress more revealing than I have ever worn, to boot." Ruby smiled towards Mabel's direction. "And I find you here, otherwise engaged…"

"Ruby, I am not entertaining this other woman because I want to," he murmured.

"I know, because if you were, I would kill you before Julia even had the opportunity," she replied sweetly over a hearty bite of _Coq au Vin_.

William glanced at his wife, seated by Meacham himself, deep in conversation with one another, knowing her persistence and powers of persuasion. He smiled inside wondering what on earth could they be discussing.

_Maybe she could just ask him for the plans herself..._

* * *

After dinner, the party cleared the second floor dining room for an ornate, book-lined drawing room down on the first floor. Thick pile carpets and upholstered chairs softened the ambient volume of many small vibrant conversations. Mabel and William took a moment to appreciate the space, but being in the presence of so many wonderful volumes of books offered no interest to him. It took all his willpower to pay attention to Mabel and not to swivel his head around to find his wife. William would have liked to have had a chance to hold Julia in his arms and let her know just how much he had been missing her, but there was not going to be any dancing. He'd have to content himself with finding a brief moment to talk.

He and Mabel joined a group of men holding brandy and cigars while others milled about, as a small quartet played, while waiting for his opportunity. The soirée was to end around midnight. Even counting for Mr. Meacham chatting later with his friends, that gave William less than ninety minutes to get the hydrofoil plans and disappear while Mr. Meacham was distracted and the party wound down. Meanwhile, he and Mabel had to move forward with their plan.

Finishing her drink, Mabel smiled at him, touching his arm. "My dear Édouard, I believe I must excuse myself for a breath of fresh air and visit with my Godfather for a while. Perhaps it is best if you don't accompany me, my darling," she cooed as stood up.

Nodding, he agreed. "_Bien sur, mon trêsor_. I understand completely," he assured her, sensing his opportunity. He saw her sudden frown.

"Now what is Liam Payne doing here?" she wondered, indicating Mr. Meacham's model-maker who could be seen approaching the inventor, a letter in his outstretched hand.

"Delivering a message, perhaps?" William was not too disturbed, it might make for a better diversion, unless the message recalled Meacham to his rooms prematurely.

"I shall go attend to the matter, Édouard, and keep them occupied. Give me five minutes, then you know what to do." With that Mabel swept off.

William checked his watch-five minutes to kill. Looking around the room, he was absorbed by observing Meyers and Julia also approaching Meacham, Meyers' arm still low and possessively slung around Julia's hip. The spy's obvious, ongoing, public familiarity with his wife irritated him. _He is doing that deliberately to get my goat! _ Sipping at his own brandy, he closed his eyes to center himself. He knew Julia and Meyers must be here to somehow watch over him, but why the attention-seeking dress? She would argue that it was to create a distraction (which it certainly did), but he suspected it was not merely to spur _his_ desire...but jealousy as well.

It was no secret: Julia knew he thoroughly reveled in her possessiveness, the knowledge that _he_ was _hers_ and how she was not ashamed to state her claim, however many times it was necessary. As the boy whose own family had mostly ignored him, he delighted in being Julia's, in her public demonstration that he was spoken for: the glances and gestures, holding his arm, holding his hand, touching his tie... Considering that, he often wondered why she did not ask him to wear a wedding ring.

She stepped away from Meyers, winking at him as she walked past. He realized that such an ensemble as what she wore tonight was meant to inspire _his _possessiveness. In that she was successful. She was beautiful, heart-stoppingly beautiful, and he wanted her all to himself.

Subtly nodding in response, he debated how she wanted him to publicly claim her, after this was all over, while honoring her as an independent woman. A few ideas were floating in his head when Ruby approached, Mr. Hearst having abandoned her for an engrossing conversation of his own. As an American politician, he was a sought after man and did not seem to notice her absence.

Ruby stood closer to him that propriety called for, so William shifted his attention away from fantasies of his wife to his troublesome sister in law. "I understand you're here for a job, William, or should I say _Monsieur Laurent_," she softly stated before leaning in to him as if she momentarily lost her balance. "Excuse me," she said loud enough to be overheard. More quietly again, she whispered: "Mr. Meacham is staying on the 4th floor in the 'Louisiana' suite, I would assume his plans are there, just so you know," she smiled as she stepped back.

"And you know this how?" William wondered in a low tone lest anyone else overhear.

"While some may say that it is unladylike for a woman to handle money, I've always found that carrying a few small bills will never not be useful. A small tip is essential in helping others be of assistance to you," she smiled as she motioned to a waiter, pointing at her own glass for a refill. "So, are you going to stand here and silently accept that another man is taking liberties with your wife, or are you going to take care of the reason we're all playing this charade?"

William caught the hint, not even wondering how Ruby knew so much. "Yes, since Mabel is occupying Mr. Meacham, now is the time," William agreed, finishing his brandy for a bit of liquid courage.

"I believe my sister may desire a few words with you before you go, but yes, now is as fine a time as any," she agreed as she stepped away, allowing Julia to take her place.

"Miss Walker, I believe, yes?" he asked in a scratchy voice as Julia came to him, resisting the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her. Though he remained still, his hands and his groin twitched in want. _Or was it need?_

"Yes, _Monsieur Laurent_, it is good to make your acquaintance again," Julia concurred, remembering at the last minute to offer her hand to him.

"_Enchantée, mademoiselle_," he replied, bending over her proffered hand, noting how she brushed her hand in his, making sure that he felt her wedding rings under her long white gloves as he did so. Straightening up he saw the moebius pendant he'd commissioned for her gleaming against her skin. Seeing the way she looked at him, with a mix of love and desire, he almost forgot he had a job to do.

Smiling at her, he decided to be as bold as the Frenchman he was impersonating and leaned forward to kiss her cheek in the continental fashion as well. "I intend to be the man who helps you undress for bed, Mrs. Murdoch" he whispered as he leaned in. Pulling back, he looked at her through his lashes, knowing that she loved it when he did so.

"I'm counting on it," she replied, glancing around before adding "_Monsieur Laurent."_

The way she emphasized his pseudonym brought him abruptly back to reality. He had to get those plans **now**. Groaning, he smiled. "Most excellent. If you'll excuse me I believe I may get a breath of fresh air and see if I can get a glimpse of this library everyone tells me I must see for myself," he explained, stepping out towards the balcony.

She caught his sleeve, whispering in his ear. "Be careful. Remember you have been warned someone knows you are an impostor." Before he could react, Julia turned away to speak with another guest, giving him cover to leave.

_Someone was on to me!? _Her warning put a lump in his throat. He could not hesitate; there was nothing for it. He needed to ignore the warning, and that he was clearly going to be guilty of international espionage on foreign soil and instead focus on finishing the job - and living long enough to help Julia out of that dress.

A few minutes later, and after taking pains to be seen to be heading towards the water closet, he detoured and headed toward where he reckoned there had to be a set of service stairs for staff since he could not be seen using the grand staircase at the front. His instinct correct, he quickly found them and easily made it up the three flights of stairs.

If anyone caught him, he was going to use the excuse that he'd become lost looking for the library that everyone had told him he must see. Ducking into the hall, he was well pleased to note that no one else was in this part of the club, and the hall was dimly lit and quiet. He quickly found sets of large doors along the hall, each labeled with a state's name or literary reference. He found the 'Louisiana' room mid-way down on the right. He glanced around one last time before taking out his lock picking set, hoping he'd be as fast as George in opening the door.

Approximately a minute later, he finally heard the lock turn and the door opened directly to the room, where William immediately spied Meacham's traveling desk. _Thank you, Ruby_! This was Meacham's room. William prayed that the plans were there as Meyers had stated. Noting that there was another lock, William again set out to pick it, exhaling as he did so when he heard the door open behind him. In walked Mabel herself.

"Oh Édouard, I hoped you were here. I wasn't sure how quickly you were going to get in but it seems you, my clever darling, have done it already," she gushed as he opened the desk, glimpsing the desired plans.

"Of course, _ma belle fille_," he assured her. All they need to do now is race to the train, get on- board and then he can photograph the plans and be done with this. To reassure himself he reached in his pocket, seeking out the tiny camera, when his hand encountered nothing. Quickly patting his front down, he realized in horror that the miniature camera was gone. It had been there earlier in the evening, and he had no idea where he could have lost it.

"Mabel, we must leave, right now." Knowing that he couldn't fail in his job now, and that the objective was so close, he grabbed the plans to fold them so he could fit them in his jacket, hoping the bulge wouldn't be quite so noticeable. Mabel put her hand on his arm, pulling in to stand very close to him.

"Wait Édouard! Why not let me take the burden of hiding the plans and getting them out of here. I can hide them in my petticoat and no one would be the wiser."

Closing his eyes, he sought to think of another solution when the door opened behind them.

William suddenly felt Mabel wind herself all over him in a lovers' embrace.

The doorway revealed none other than Liam Payne.


	14. Chapter 14

_**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**_

"_**Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him: for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he."**_

"Well...I was going to ask whatever the two of you were doing up here in Mr. Meacham's rooms, but I dare say that it is quite obvious." Liam Payne announced.

"Oh, Liam, you caught us! We came up here for some privacy. I am so embarrassed," Mabel simpered as she ostentatiously parted from William.

There was a long pause before William stammered, "..._Oui, pardonnez moi, mais_...ah, pardon me, I have become enamoured by this charming young woman…" His startled blush was authentic. He took Mabel's hand and kissed it, manoeuvring them both towards the door for an escape. "She found Mr. Meacham's door open, and…"

For a moment William thought he and Mabel were going to get away with it. That was until he saw the gun in Payne's hand.

"To think your Godfather trusted you, and this is how you choose to repay him," he scolded disapprovingly. He pointed a single shot pistol at William. "You can give me those plans now," he ordered.

Taking a deep breath, William laid them back down on the desk. "_Mais oui. _I have returned them, _Monsieur_ Payne."

Any guilt was short lived as Mabel brought up a weapon of her own from somewhere in her skirts. _Apparently those skirts _can _hide all manner of things_. The thought went through his head unbidden.

"I don't think so, Liam. No, I believe I will be keeping those plans." Her olive-green eyes were alive in a way William hadn't really seen before.

Not knowing everything that was going on, but knowing that all was not as it seemed, Willam had to think fast. While Payne and Mabel were busy pointing gun barrels at each other, he smoothly took out the pen that held tranquilizer darts, hiding it in his palm, trying to stay very still.

For his part Liam Payne adopted a confident, casual sarcasm to his manner. "Little Miss Finch, put that silly little gun down. I don't think you really understand. I am not here to protect your godfather's work. I did not expect to see you up here doing the same."

Mabel fluttered her eyelashes, reaching with her other hand for the plans. "Édouard and I planned to merely borrow them, to run away together…"

Payne laughed. "You are naive, my dear. And you, Monsieur Laurent…"

"Ah...I meant no harm, I only did as _ma belle_ Mabel asked," he offered. It was cowardly to shift blame onto Mabel, but William was at a loss for anything better. Instead, William studied the gun she was holding.

"Most ungallant, Mr. Laurent. Poor girl, to be taken in by an imposter," Payne sneered, waving his gun slightly. "Stop playing around. Give me the drawings."

Mabel sucked her teeth. "I know he is an imposter. But I dare say that I really did not expect any better from the French," she retorted as she pointed the gun at Liam Payne.

William felt sweat starting to run down between his shoulder blades. "_Qu'est-ce que c'est?_ What is this... _im-pos-teu_r? _Ma belle_, Mabel, what are you talking about?"

"You are much, much too handsome for little Mabel Finch, too physically fit for a romantic," she shrugged when William just kept staring at her. "Your beard, Édouard. When I kissed you I smelled the spirit gum under the brandy." She looked at Payne. "But how do _you_ know this?"

"Because I eliminated Édouard Laurent in Toronto. Or at least I thought I did until I saw the two of you outside that tea shop. Never-the-less, Miss Finch, you do realize that though your gun is small, it is not silent, or not as silent as mine. You will attract attention before you ever have a chance to escape."

Mabel actually giggled. "No, Liam, because no one will ever believe Mabel, the little mouse, of ever doing such a thing. My pistol has more than one bullet," training her gun now between William and Payne. "And neither of you will be in any position to do or say anything about it as you will both be dead," she said, cocking the gun.

Confusion flooded William. _What is going on?_ His brain whirred with information, coming up with _almost_ something… _Mabel referred to herself in the third person?_ His attention was intently drawn on the barrel end of Mabel's weapon. A .32 calibre revolver, a brand new Savage Model he read about, which could dispense ten shots rapidly despite its small size.

Multiple images flitted across William's mind: The startled carriage on Victoria Street... the hole in Mabel's dress..."You shot at me and Mabel, in Toronto!" William accused Payne. "You killed Agent Hale as well."

"So what?" Payne smirked. "For a little while I thought I saved your life," he pointed his gun at William, "because that old boy Bobby Hale was going to kill you and assume your identity."

That got Mabel's attention. "You are not just a model maker, are you, Mr. Payne? My Godfather will be so disappointed."

"_**And you are not Mabel Finch." **_

William's insight blazingly obvious now, it momentarily startled both Payne and Mabel. In a bid for survival, William fired a dart from his pen at Payne while lunging for Mabel and her gun, seizing the element of surprise as Payne keeled over onto the floor with a thud.

With the tables turned, William tried to wrestle the Savage from Mabel, but she was faster. "I don't know who you are, but you do intrigue me," she smiled, stroking his hand. "In fact, I believe you'd interest me more if…" she trailed off, carefully peeling off his mustache and beard, rubbing the spirit gum off with her finger. "I do believe I enjoy you more this way," she murmured. "In fact, perhaps we can come to an agreement, whilst having a bit of fun...what if we were to both copy the plans and sell them to the highest bidder like our dull-witted colleague was trying to do over there… then we could take the money and enjoy ourselves, my darling, anywhere we choose," she offered, caressing his face with the back of her hand and allowing it to trail down his shoulder and arm, eventually moving down his abdomen and to the front of his snug trousers, cupping him in her other hand. William tried again for the gun, but he only got her to drop it and kicked it behind her, out of his reach.

William grabbed both her wrists and swallowed an involuntary groan and twitch, anxious for his chance to overcome her yet careful of what else she might have in the way of lethal spy gadgets.

"Something tells me you know very well how to show a woman a good time," she purred as she reached for his face with hers, kissing him in a way she had never done as Mabel, her tongue dueling with his...an intimate act William wanted no part of. Cautiously peering over her shoulder as he remained lip-locked and looking at a vase just out of grasp, he worried about dropping one of her hands to reach it.

Suddenly, another figure swooped in, fabric train tucked up around her waist to reveal slender, well-formed legs. Julia grabbed said vase, crashing it down over Mabel's head. The precious hydrofoil diagrams sailed across the room, blown from the desktop in the melee.

"That'll teach you to keep your distance, you hussy" Julia scolded the erstwhile seductress as William allowed the wounded woman to fall to the floor, and stepped aside, taking care to grab her discarded gun as Julia grabbed Payne's. William looked around for something to restrain the pair as Ruby and Terrence ran in. "Nice of you to join us," Julia complained pointedly.

"Mr. Meyers, I have no idea who the man passing himself off as Liam Payne is, but he confessed to killing your Agent Hale. I don't think that is Mabel Finch," William said carefully, watching for the spy's reaction.

"She is not exactly that youthful or naïve, either," Julia pointed with some satisfaction towards the unconscious woman in a heap on the floor. Julia fought the urge to kick her.

Smiling down at Mabel, Meyers laughed. "I think that's Erika Schloss, an Austrian spy."

William continued. "I also think she killed a man in Toronto. I believe when we compare the bullets from her gun, we will find a match to the bullets from a man in our morgue whom we found in the ravine." He was kicking himself for being so dense. He'd been so wrapped up in play-acting spy he neglected basic detection.

"Better put those away," Meyers told Ruby. She had apparently been picking up the hydrofoil drawings while the rest had talked, and reassembled them in a neat pile. She got them in the travelling desk just as Mr. Meacham and William Randolph Hearst pushed their way into the suite.

"What have you done to my goddaughter and my model-maker?" Meacham exclaimed. Astonished, Meacham finally saw his open travel desk and spied the hydrofoil plans lying on top.

"Just who the hell are you?" Mr. Hearst directed at all four of them. Then pointing to Meyers: "You are certainly not that drunkard Henry Lawson."

"No, sir. I'm Terrence Meyers, and I work for His Majesty King Edward, representing the Dominion of Canada. This here is Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary. You are acquainted with Miss Ruby Ogden, and may I introduce Dr. Julia Ogden, Mr. Murdoch's wife. We have been following this pair, " he motioned to the floor, "as they are responsible for two murders in Toronto," Meyers supplied. "If you need confirmation, Mr. Hearst, contact the British Consulate."

Mr. Hearst and Mr. Meacham just looked at each other, dumbfounded.

_Well, it was a lot to take in_, William thought.

Meyer's cleared his throat. "Representative Hearst? Can you oblige?" Meyers asked.

"Please, William?" Ruby implored her companion.

"Someone get me a phone and tell me what in God's nightgown is going on here," the politician bellowed, suddenly bolting into action.

* * *

"_**O, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful…"**_

An hour later, Mr. Hearst himself came back to the room with William Meacham and two stout men to verify Meyers' claims, while still looking at William and Terrence Meyers skeptically. Ruby and Julia had been excused to wait in the lounge while the men settled up. Julia had protested vociferously and expected Ruby to support her in demanding to be included, if only to cadge a story out of the proceedings. Instead, Ruby docilely accepted being led away. Julia, throwing up her hands in frustration, accompanied her.

Hearst was holding forth, having a cigar in one of the Louisiana suite's leather chairs. He did not offer one to Meyers. "And I'm supposed to just believe that you Canadians just decided to come here to New York and help deter foreign spies just to help us? Cross-border cooperation is it?"

"Yes, we are here chasing murderers and inadvertently stumbled onto their little plan. We think Liam Payne is his true name, and he is probably a free-agent. He killed a Canadian operative. _Fräulein_ Schloss works for the Austro-Hungarians. She killed Daniel Mulcahy, an acquaintance of the real Mabel's natural father who likely recognized her as a fake. Mr. Meacham confirmed that he was supposed to have a visit from Mr. Mulcahy in Toronto, but the man never showed."

Mr. Meacham shook his head sadly. "I wanted to see Mabel again, I was blinded by hope, perhaps...?" He hesitated. "Do you think Mabel is ...is dead as well?" He shot a glance at the Mabel Finch impostor.

The woman still said nothing, but William saw her shake her head 'no.' For some reason he actually believed her.

"Actually, I think we will locate her safe and sound in Atlantic City," Hearst declared. "I should have told you, Meacham, I had someone contact her mother, who says she got a postcard. Seems the girl was sent tickets to go there to meet her fiancé."

Meyers clapped his hands together, trying to move things along before there were any other uncomfortable questions he did not wish to answer. "There you have it. You can take into custody two foreign agents engaging in espionage on American soil, and we will be happy knowing they will face justice at the hand of the United States government," Meyers explained, motioning towards the two prisoners who were still in handcuffs, still refusing to talk.

"Wait a minute, I have no plans whatsoever in letting these two go," William interjected. "There are two murders in Toronto…"

"You have no authority here," both Meyers and Mr. Hearst replied at the same time. William silently fumed.

"Get them out of here, down the back stairs, discreetly," Mr. Hearst ordered and his men sprang into action, including putting gags on both the prisoners so they could not make a loud fuss. "The U.S. Secret Service will take over now."

Mr. Hearst faced William and Meyers. "You have no interest in the plans for Great Britain?" He asked incredulously as his men led Erika Schloss and Liam Payne out of the room.

"Of course I do. I'd be lying if I said I didn't, but as you can see they're still all accounted for." Meyers motioned towards the desk. "Besides, Mr. Murdoch here assures me that these two spies are actually woefully behind the times. Mr. Meacham has already published his findings for all the world to see."

William Meacham, after careful review, agreed that all the pages for his hydrofoil were there and explained he had indeed published, leaving Mr. Hearst with no objections. William knew Meacham was lying about the improvement in the hydrofoil plans, but he was relieved that both Schloss and Payne were no longer there to inform anyone that he'd been the one to open the room and the desk. He seethed at not taking Schloss and Payne back to Canada to face justice, but as he'd been committing an act of espionage on foreign soil himself, he decided to remain silent.

Hearst narrowed his eyes. "You understand, this whole business never happened. And we have to search you, just a formality you understand."

"Of course. And I appreciate the American government's position and the discretion you are using in this matter by exercising your own judgement." Meyers nodded, opening his coat for the search.

Hearst ordered the remaining men to do the pat-down. William was relieved the camera was gone, eliminating any incriminating evidence on his person. But still, he suffered the intrusion to his privacy as the agent rather thoroughly ran his hands over William's body. He'd much preferred for Julia to have done it. Finding only a watch, wallet and pen, the agent turned up nothing else and shrugged. The agent searching Meyers shook his head as well.

"Good doing business with you, Mr. Meyers, but it is Mr. Murdoch here who has truly vouch-safed this cross-border intrusion of yours."

Meyers looked at the detective with surprise while William felt himself blushing. Hearst laughed. "President Roosevelt tells me that if you, Detective, and your wife, Dr. Ogden, are involved, we are to trust you. No questions asked. It seems that you have friends in high places, Detective." Hearst got more serious again. "This will be classified as top secret; I imagine both here and in Canada."

Meyers and William looked at each other, nodding in unison. "Yes, sir."


	15. Epilogue

_**EPILOGUE **_

"_**...Good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues."**_

Walking downstairs to the front lobby, William, Julia, Ruby and Terrence Meyers waited for the attendant to bring the women their cloaks and for transportation back to the hotel to be procured.

"Where has Representative Hearst gone, Ruby?" Julia asked, suddenly noticing the man's absence.

"He did not come down the stairs," Ruby drawled. "Typical politician, he probably became concerned about whether or not there would be a scandal and left hastily out the back door. I imagine I will not be seeing him again," she added with a shrug.

"I'm sorry, Ruby. I did not mean to cause trouble between you and your friend," Julia answered, as they took their wraps from the coat check. The younger Ogden shrugged. "Plenty more where he came from," she nonchalantly replied, Meyers himself slipping her cape around her shoulders.

The four of them decided to escape the watchful eyes of the Lotos Club staff and wait for the carriages outside. Once outside, William explained what he was able to piece together about how he finally came to his conclusions about the two murders in Toronto: the phony Mabel Finch, Liam Payne who had killed Agent Hale, and the identity of Daniel Mulcahy, the unfortunate friend of the genuine Miss Finch, resting in the Toronto morgue, whose corpse had two bullets in him courtesy of Miss Erika Schloss.

"What about the real Miss Finch, has anyone verified her well-being?" Julia asked.

"We confirmed that she is visiting her fiance in Atlantic City. She is doing well," Meyers assured her.

Julia skeptically looked at William who nodded his assent. She sighed in relief.

"It sounds like one of those Elizabethan plays where everyone is disguised as someone else," Ruby summed up as the quartet gathered under a street light. "If I wrote about it, no one would believe me!" She got no argument for that. "Too bad you will not take them home to Toronto for prosecution, William."

Privately, William quite agreed. Giving up two murder suspects was galling, but he did not answer her, instead he held Julia's hand..

On the New York street, the night was warm, yet not too warm. William wanted to get away from Terrence Meyers and alone with Julia as soon as possible. He wondered if he and Julia might walk back to her hotel when he observed a jaunty bounce in Meyers' step. The man was not at all disappointed.

"Too bad it does not have a completely happy ending. You did good work though, Murdoch," Meyers started the conversation. "You too, Julia."

"Work you seemed to have taken credit for," Julia reminded everyone. "What exactly happened with our suspects?"

Meyers smiled. "That is top secret, and Murdoch and I have been sworn. Let's just say they will get their comeuppance."

"You seem to be in positive spirits...surprising for a man who did not get what he wanted," William said quietly.

"I am disappointed, yes, but we both live to tell the tale."

"Almost too late," William's voice was tight. "Julia tells me you knew that someone broke my cover story. Why did she know and I did not?"

William, Julia and Ruby all stared at Meyers. The spy merely chuckled. "You had me and your wife come all this way to protect your back. What more could you have asked asked for? You did fine on your own, and besides, any day in which I get one over on an American official - _on American soil at that_ \- is a fine one. Not to mention that the Austrians or whoever Payne wanted to sell to won't be getting their hands on the plans either. I need all my equipment back, by the way, Murdoch," he finished, punctuating the air with his cigar. "All in all a good day, and one mission I enjoyed executing, very much." To William's eye, Meyers managed to leer in Julia's direction.

_That was enough of that!_ Suddenly, feeling anger over the whole ordeal and especially at Meyers' liberties that evening with Julia's person, even if she had been present as the Australian Sheila Walker. William pulled his arm back and landed a clean punch on Meyers' smug visage. A deep sense of satisfaction washed over him as he heard the sharp crack when his fist connected with Meyer's jaw. "Keep your damned hands off my wife!" William warned, his fists clenched and standing over the man now sprawled on the ground. Ruby yelped, bending over Meyers, a surprised yet calculating look on her face.

Although she'd have liked to kick Meyers for lying to her, endangering William by not warning him, Julia said nothing, pleased to be snuggled into William's side, relishing the opportunity to finally be in her husband's arms. William possessively slung his arm around her, settling his hand low around her waist and his hand on her backside. He delighted in the lack of complicated female undergarments he encountered. Her bottom was warm and firm in his grasp, and he reveled in the public act of intimacy.

In response, she nibbled on his ear and he stifled another groan.

As Meyers got himself up, he heard Ruby laugh. "William, you actually swore!" she exclaimed. "I am proud of you!"

Fully upright, Meyers clutched his jaw, finding it hurt to laugh. "I suppose I deserved that, Murdoch."

"Besides...I wouldn't say that the whole operation was entirely unsuccessful," Ruby drew everyone's attention in her direction. She pulled the miniature spy-camera out of her décolletage, slipping it into her reticule.

"How did you get that camera?" William and Meyers asked simultaneously. William could feel his hands reaching for the little device. He _really_ wanted that marvelous camera.

"William, I find it surprising that you didn't notice when I lifted it from you," Ruby proudly announced. "Given how fastidious you are, you should have known that your suit hung differently after I removed it," she smiled.

"Miss Ogden?" Terrence Meyers' eyes were huge. "Did you get the photographs?"

"I suppose you'll have to find out, won't you Mr. Meyers?" Ruby asked slyly, walking towards the recently arrived carriages as she slipped it into her reticule. "William, Julia, I imagine you'll be returning to your suite? I don't suppose you'll join us at this fantastic little club I know? It's in Harlem, the musicians are from New Orleans and the music is simply divine..."

William interrupted. "No, thank you. It is late and time for my wife and I to retire," he replied. He wanted the camera, but not as much as he wanted his wife...

Ruby winked at them. "Can't say that I blame you, William. She does look stunning, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she does," William replied as Meyers handed Ruby into the carriage and stepped in behind her.

"William, it is a nice night, and our hotel is not far...just a few blocks...we're at The Knickerbocker," she smiled at him. "Might we walk back?"

Dismissing the second carriage, they strolled back. Even though there were plenty of street lights, he couldn't help but scan the streets for any potential dangers. He had not come this far over the past few days to be denied now. Still, he was pleased to note that no one paid them any mind, and he enjoyed the late summer weather that was pleasant. He also further enjoyed the liberties he was able to take with her person here in New York. This wasn't Toronto, and she wasn't Dr. Ogden here, she was free to be Mrs. Murdoch, scandalous socialite. He reveled in the ability to not only place his hand on her derriere, he also squeezed it ever so slightly.

In return, she slid her hand down his chest and abdomen until she reached her goal.

"Mother of God," William groaned. "I'm not sure you understand how much I have missed you the past few days," he warned, ignoring how his belly coiled in excitement.

He exhaled and tried to imagine seeing Inspector Brackenreid in the locker room at work so that he didn't get too excited.

Julia giggled, but moved her hand so that it rested on his buttock.

"So Detective, judging from your glances directed my way this evening, to your actions until this moment might you want my body now?" Julia's voice was husky.

"Is there ever a time I have said no?" William said rhetorically before remembering that she wanted possessiveness and ardor from him. "So, yes, I do want your body, Mrs. Murdoch," he replied with a squeeze. "It seems, that Miss Eliza Ladywood has nothing on Julia Ogden, also known as Sheila Walker, for adventures." When Julia looked at him quizzically, he continued. "After all...Miss Ladywood did not travel in disguise to a foreign land with an international spy to foil two assassins' plots to steal government secrets, disarming one of them with a well-placed Ming vase, all whilst sashaying around in the height of sinuous Parisian fashions."

Julia smiled and leaned against him. "When you put it that way, I believe I do have her beat!" She smoothed her dress suggestively. "So, William, you seem to approve of my new gown…?"

"Approve...yes, I approve of you in that dress...it was made for someone such as you. But I did not care for Terrence Meyers touching you, nor did I like it not being patently clear to everyone in the room that I would be the one helping you out of it. You do recall I mentioned earlier that I was going to be that man?" he reminded her.

"Might you be jealous, William?" Julia asked, stopping in the street, a sly smile on her face.

_Aha! So she was trying to make me jealous!_ _Two can play that game…_ He yanked her toward him, hands gripping a bit tighter than was necessary and kissed her roughly. "Is that what you were looking for," he asked. "Shall I become an alpha male wolf, demonstrating territorial behavior?" William smiled back at her slyly himself

"Perhaps not all the time, but at other times, it could be most intriguing…" she trailed off, stroking his cheek. She did appreciate his modern behavior, but it would be up to her to let him know when more primal behavior was desired. "So, Mr. Murdoch, I have been waiting for you help me out of this dress for hours," she murmured, delighting in his confessed jealousy as they strolled up to the front steps to The Knickerbocker Hotel.

Glancing around as they entered the lobby, the place was teeming despite the late hour. This was the new, fashionable hotel in New York and the wealthy and fashionable people came here to be seen. Though the lights were turned down, William observed that the bar was not only open, but bustling. Glancing at his wife with a smile, he nodded in assent to the concierge who quickly divested Julia of her cape: both of them enjoying the stunned buzz that her evening's attire brought onto the room. "Shall we, Mrs. Murdoch?" Escorting her to the bar, he quickly ordered champagne and revelled in the outrageousness as Julia had once recommended.

William placed his hand high on her thigh as they drank, aware of the glances people were sneaking at the them. Though Julia enjoyed the opportunity to behave in a manner she never could in Toronto, it was time to end the sweet torment that had been afflicting them the past few days.

Finishing her glass, she leaned in and whispered, "Unwrap me, William."

Quickly finishing his own glass, he silently stood, hurriedly pulling her out of the dark bar, keeping his hand on her derrière and closer than decorum allowed as they strolled back through the lobby and toward the elevators.

The whispers and stares of the other guests didn't bother Julia; she delighted in them.

Of course her ebullient mood was buoyed by the excitement of the evening, fine champagne, and the knowledge that she was going to finally make love to William. The leadup to this moment had been long and frustrating, but all would be worth it soon. Boarding the elevator, Julia nipped his ear as she sensuously slid the key into the pocket of his trousers. She delighted in his sharp intake of breath and his strained warning of "Julia."

If the elevator attendant noticed anything, he said nothing. Julia tipped him well as they walked out onto their floor. Arriving at her room, he took the key and opened the door, and before the door could close behind them, his mouth was on hers, their moans in concert.

Julia tipped her head back baring her throat to him and enjoyed the roughness of the day's stubble from his cheek upon her neck. Meanwhile, his hands roved up and down her body in an effort to unwrap her. He found three buttons on her upper back but growled when he realized they were merely decorative. Stepping back to examine her, Julia giggled at his stymied, frustrated expression.

The dress wasn't like anything he'd ever seen. It was truly spectacular. "Having trouble, William?" Julia laughed as he fumbled for a nonexistent zipper.

"Nothing I won't figure out, I have been told that I am good at getting to the bottom of things..." he replied with a sly grin, again squeezing her bottom in his hand. The knit silk jersey material stretched easily in his hands and was most pliable. _Not at all like most of her dresses._ _Surely I'm not meant to simply pull it over her head, am I? _ William groaned out loud at the thought of the thin fabric being all that covered his wife this evening and Julia joined him with her own moan.

His possessiveness flared and he pulled her back into his arms, greedy for more contact.

Julia felt herself melting in anticipation.

At her waist he finally found the first clue: a decorative cinch to the side which he unclasped, allowing two lengths of fabric to unwind. "Ah, now what do we have here," William murmured as he set out to do what he'd been most eager to do all evening. Within moments the dress lay in a heap on the floor and Julia stepped out wearing naught but stockings.

Picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom, he laid her out on the bed, before he hurriedly shed his own clothes. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm down, lest his rather obvious desire overwhelm him and he embarrass himself. He had missed his wife deeply.

That William wanted her so badly ratcheted up her own desire. Laying arms and legs akimbo on the bed as William removed her stockings, she was sure she heard him murmur as he kissed the inside of her thighs, his fingers busy with the fine silk..Just when she was about to ask him what he was saying she caught it for herself - the man was reciting Newton's Third Law!

Throwing her head back in laughter, Julia ran her fingers through his hair...he was hers and she was his, and it was exactly how it was supposed to be.

* * *

It was fortunate that the train back to Toronto was late the following afternoon, as they hadn't gone to bed until dawn had begun to crack through the window shades. As they arrived at the station, William lamented to Julia about the lack of privacy plus the separate beds they would have on the journey back North. Looking at his wife with a sigh, he would have liked to have enjoyed a second honeymoon with her in the city, but he'd been away from his job enough, plus he had an investigation to wrap up to the best of his ability…

_How does one close an investigation when your culprits are facing who knows what with the Americans? _Do I dare type the words "suspects un-captured due to matters of national security? Or do I just let the Inspector handle it...serves him right for making me go through this…" he thought.

As they neared their platform, William was surprised to see Ruby waiting for them, holding a plain, brown paper parcel in her hands.

"William, Julia," she greeted with a smile, handing the package over to Julia with a smile.

"I see you got it, Ruby. I'm quite impressed," Julia replied.

"You shouldn't be, dear Sister, you of all people should know how persuasive I can be," the younger Ogden laughed.

"I'm not surprised, but I am impressed Ruby. How did you get on with Mr. Meyers last night?" Julia asked.

"He is an intriguing sort, most secretive and reluctant to come out with information, but alas, so am I. He is also quite fun and enjoys showing a woman a good time, in fact…" Ruby began, a smile upon her face.

"That's quite enough. I don't need to know how entertaining Meyers can be," William interrupted. He squeezed his eyes shut at the unwanted images of just how Ruby and Meyers enjoyed one another's company.

"Come now, William, you should know that notorious women run in our family, and I know firsthand just how much Julia enjoys a good time and judging from the fact that she was so eager to see you, you undoubtedly deliver in that department," Ruby smiled sweetly.

Seeing William's blush and his uncomfortable squirm, Julia intervened. While she might normally have liked to tease him, _especially when he'd definitely delivered_ he'd been through a lot the past few days. "That's enough, Ruby," she told Ruby with a wink.

William turned even redder, wondering just what the two discussed behind his back.

"I'm not all bad, William. You'll thank me and my talents when you see what's inside the box," Ruby laughed. Behind her, William could see their trunks being loaded onto the train and knew their departure time was nearing.

_Thank God! In fact, speaking of thanks..._

"Yes, Ruby, I do have to thank you and your _talents_ for helping this mission succeed, without your work this all could have ended very differently or may not yet be over. I am glad you and Mr. Meyers enjoyed spending time with one another even if I don't want to know which activities you enjoyed," William added. Though she could be difficult to handle, he knew his scandalous sister-in-law was an ally, and liked him in return.

"Terrence isn't so bad actually. In fact, we understand one another quite well, and I'm seeing him again tonight. I think he wants to recruit me, that or ask where his missing property is," she giggled with a shrug. "Perhaps both?"

William was curious as to what missing property she was talking about, but knew that the train would not wait for them.

"Thank you, Ruby. I appreciate everything," Julia hugged her sister.

"Any time, Jules. It was more fun than I've had in quite a while, thanks for including me," Ruby replied.

"Goodbye, William. I would say more, but perhaps I've embarrassed you enough for one day," she laughed.

"Goodbye, Ruby. And thank you-for everything," William answered as the conductor blew his whistle. He grabbed Julia's hand and boarded the train.

As they walked to their first class compartment, Julia declined to hand him the box. "I'll give it to you shortly," she promised as they took their seats.

After the attendant took their dinner orders, they settled in for some canoodling, and just when William was wondering if they had enough time before dinner and how quiet could they be, Julia instinctively knew to stop and cool things down before dinner.

"Aren't you curious as to what I have for you?" Julia asked, caressing his cheek.

"Of course," William croaked, trying to regain control.

Smiling, she stood up and handed him the box, which he eagerly opened.

Inside was the small camera he had coveted the past few days: the Ensignette.

"Do I want to know how Ruby got this?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm honestly not sure, nor do I care," Julia shrugged, taking a sip of wine. "All that matters is that you have a camera that's a prototype and not yet sold anywhere. You're one of the few in the world to have one, plus we got one over Meyers in the end," she giggled.

"That we did," he laughed, leaning in to kiss her. "What do you think will happen between those two?" he wondered.

"Who knows? But I'd put my money on Ruby rather than Meyers," she replied.

"As would I," William laughed, kissing her again.

Outside, darkness fell as the train sped out of the city.

* * *

**THE END**

**A/N: Dear Reader: Hope you liked coming along for the adventure! We could find nothing more outrageous than one of these Shakespeare everyone- is- pretending- to- be- someone- else- and- it- all- works- out- at- the- end plots. Whew! All the quotes are from "As You LIke It." Fallenbelle & RuthieGreen wish to point out that this story includes many historical details and characters. **

**We borrowed Mr. William Meacham, Mr. Casey Baldwin and yes, **_**that **_**Mr. William Randolph Hearst of Citizen Kane fame, and put words in their mouths. William Meacham did invent improvements to hydrofoils. Mr. Baldwin was at university in Toronto in 1906-7 and would go on to an amazing scientific career. **

**Madame Margaine-Lacroix created the most revolutionary and beautiful gowns for women and is credited in being one of the shocking French designers who "killed the corset." If you're interested in seeing what we based Julia's shocking dress on, search for Robe Sylphide. Her gowns shocked even Paris with their lack of undergarments (i.e. corsets) in the early years of the 20th century. Until recently, she has been forgotten, but she has finally started to get her due in recent years. **

**The Lotos Club has had several locations, but in 1906-7 it was at ****556-558 ****5th Avenue and 46th Street in New York City & Mr. William Randolph Hearst was a member, and a member of the United States Congress, representing New York's 11th district from 1903-1907. The Savage Model ten-shot pistol was small and lethal. Camera miniaturization was beginning and we'd like to point out we thought of it before William got the Ensignette from Julia in an episode, so we gave the reason for why she got one for him…. **

**FB and rg give a big thanx to JH for suggestions and for thereby making the story better.**

**rg says thanx to "Dutch" for beta-read and many happy thanx to Fallenbelle for being so much fun to write with! **

**FB says thanks to rg who exercised the patience of a saint in dealing with her crazy, hectic schedule. She would also like to apologize for her bad schoolgirl French. It's been more years than she cares to admit.**

**And a big thanx to GMM for her proof-reader's eye-bless you!**


End file.
